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THE GENTLE READER. i2mo, $1.25, net. 
Postage extra. 

MISS MUFFET'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. 
Illustrated. Square i2mo, $1.00, net. Post- 
paid, $1.08. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, 
Boston and New York. 



THE GENTLE READER 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
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BY 



SAMUEL McCHOKD CROTHEKS 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

Stfje JftfoerstBe press, Cam&rtUge 
1903 




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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

OCT 10 1903 

Copyright Entry 

I CLASS Ct XXc No !! 
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copy a. 



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Copyright, 1903 

By Samuel Mc Chord Cr others 

All rights reserved 

Published October, 1903 



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< -|JIjYHEN Don Quixote was descanting on the 
^[ beauty of the peerless Dulcinea, the Duchess 
interrupted him by expressing a doubt as to that 
lady's existence. 

" Much may be said on that point," said Don 
Quixote. " God only knows whether there be 
any Dulcinea or not in the world. These are 
things the proof of which must not be pushed 
to extreme lengths." 

But this admission does not in the least inter- 
fere with the habitual current of his thoughts, 
or cool the ardor of his loyalty. He proceeds 
after the momentary digression as if nothing 
had happened. "I behold her as she needs 



vi PREFACE 

must be, a lady who contains within herself all 
the qualities to make her famous throughout 
the world ; beautiful, without blemish ; digni- 
fied, without haughtiness ; tender, and yet mod- 
est ; gracious from courtesy, and courteous from 
good breeding ; and lastly of illustrious birth." 

If in the following pages I begin by admit- 
ting that there is much to be said in behalf 
of the popular notion that the Gentle Reader 
no longer exists, let this pass simply as an evi- 
dence of my decent respect for the opinion of 
mankind. To my mind the Gentle Reader is 
the most agreeable of companions, and to make 
his acquaintance is one of the pleasures of life. 

Of so elusive a personality it is not always 
possible to give a consistent account. I have no 
doubt that I may have occasionally attributed to 
him sentiments which are really my own; on 
the other hand, I suspect that some views that 
I have set down as my own may have been un- 
consciously derived from him. I have particu- 
lar reference to the opinions expressed on the 



PREFACE vii 

subject of Ignorance. Such confusion of mental 
properties the Gentle Eeader will readily par- 
don, for there is no one in all the world so 
careless of the distinctions between Meum and 
Tuum. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Gentle Reader 1 

The Enjoyment of Poetry .... 35 

The Mission of Humor 64 

Cases of Conscience concerning Witchcrafts 101 

The Honorable Points of Ignorance . . 135 

That History should be Readable . . 167 

The Evolution of the Gentleman . . 201 

The Hinter-land of Science .... 227 
The Gentle Reader's Friends among the 

Clergy 243 

Quixotism 271 

Intimate Knowledge and Delight . . 303 



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^IljtHAT has become of the Gentle Reader? 
^jr* One does not like to think that he has 
passed away with the stagecoach and the weekly- 
news-letter ; and that henceforth we are to be 
confronted only by the stony glare of the Intel- 
ligent Reading Public. Once upon a time, that 
is to say a generation or two ago, he was very 
highly esteemed. To him books were dedicated, 
with long rambling prefaces and with episodes 
which were their own excuse for being. In the 
very middle of the story the writer would stop 
with a word of apology or explanation addressed 
to the Gentle Reader, or at the very least with a 
nod or a wink. No matter if the fate of the hero 
be in suspense or the plot be inextricably involved. 
" Hang the plot ! " says the author. " I must 



2 THE GENTLE READER 

have a chat with the Gentle Reader, and find out 
what he thinks about it." 

And so confidences were interchanged, and 
there was gossip about the Universe and sugges- 
tions in regard to the queerness of human nature, 
until, at last, the author would jump up with, 
" Enough of this, Gentle Eeader ; perhaps it 's 
time to go back to the story." 

The thirteenth book of Tom Jones leaves the 
heroine in the greatest distress. The last words 
are, " Nor did this thought once suffer her to close 
her eyes during the whole succeeding night." 
Had Fielding been addressing the Intelligent 
Modern Public he would have intensified the in- 
terest by giving an analysis of Sophia's distress 
so that we should all share her insomnia. But 
not at all ! While the dear girl is recovering her 
spirits it is such an excellent opportunity to have 
uninterrupted discourse with the Gentle Reader, 
who does n't take these things too hard, having 
long since come to " the years that bring the 
philosophic mind." So the next chapter is en- 
titled An Essay to prove that an author will write 
better for having some knowledge of the subject 
on which he treats. The discussion is altogether 



THE GENTLE READER 3 

irrelevant; that is what the Gentle Reader 
likes. 

" It is a paradoxical statement you make," he 
says, trying to draw the author out. « What 
are your arguments?" 

Then the author moderates his expressions. 
" To say the truth I require no more than that 
an author should have some little knowledge of 
the subject of which he treats." 

"That sounds more reasonable," says the 
Gentle Reader. « You know how much I dislike 
extreme views. Let us admit, for the sake of 
argument, that a writer may know a little about 
his subject. I hope that this may not prove 
the opening wedge for erudition. By the way, 
where was it we left the sweet Sophy; and do 
you happen to know anything more about that 
scapegrace Jones?" 

That was the way books were written and read 
in the good old days before the invention of the 
telephone and the short story. The generation 
that delighted in Fielding and Richardson had 
some staying power. A book was something to 
tie to. No one would say jauntily, « I have read 
Sir Charles Grandison," but only, "I am read- 



<t THE GENTLE READER 

ing." The characters of fiction were not treated 
as transient guests, but as lifelong companions 
destined to be a solace in old age. The short 
story, on the other hand, is invented for people 
who want a literary " quick lunch." " Tell me a 
story while I wait," demands the eager devourer 
of fiction. " Serve it hot, and be mighty quick 
about it ! " 

In rushes the story-teller with love, marriage, 
jealousy, disillusion, and suicide all served up to- 
gether before you can say Jack Robinson. There 
is no time for explanation, and the reader is in 
no mood to allow it. As for the suicide, it must 
end that way ; for it is the quickest. The end- 
ing, " They were happy ever after," cannot be 
allowed, for the doting author can never resist 
the temptation to add another chapter, dated ten 
years after, to show how happy they were. 

I sometimes fear that reading, in the old- 
fashioned sense, may become a lost art. The 
habit of resorting to the printed page for in- 
formation is an excellent one, but it is not what 
I have in mind. A person wants something and 
knows where to get it. He goes to a book just 
as he goes to a department store. Knowledge 



THE GENTLE READER 5 

is a commodity done up in a neat parcel. So 
that the article is well made he does not care 
either for the manufacturer or the dealer. 

Literature, properly so called, is quite dif- 
ferent from this, and literary values inhere not in 
things or even in ideas, hut in persons. There 
are some rare spirits that have imparted them- 
selves to their words. The book then becomes 
a person, and reading comes to be a kind of con- 
versation. The reader is not passive, as if he 
were listening to a lecture on The Ethics of the 
Babylonians. He is sitting by his fireside, and 
old friends drop in on him. He knows their 
habits and whims, and is glad to see them and 
to interchange thought. They are perfectly at 
their ease, and there is all the time in the world, 
and if he yawns now and then nobody is of- 
fended, and if he prefers to follow a thought of 
his own rather than theirs there is no discourtesy 
in leaving them. If his friends are dull this 
evening, it is because he would have it so ; that 
is why he invited them. He wants to have a 
good, cosy, dull time. He has had enough to 
stir him up during the day ; now he wants to be 
let down. He knows a score of good old au- 



6 THE GENTLE KEADER 

thors who have lived long in the happy poppy 
fields. 

In all good faith he invokes the goddess of the 
Dunciad : — 

" Her ample presence fills up all the place, 
A veil of fogs dilates her awful face. 
Here to her Chosen all her works she shews, 
Prose swelled to verse, verse loitering into prose." 

The Gentle Reader nods placidly and joins in 
the ascription : — 

" Great tamer of all human art ! 
First in my care and ever at my heart ; 
Dullness whose good old cause I still defend. 



O ever gracious to perplex'd mankind, 
Still shed a healing mist before the mind ; 
And lest we err by wit's wild dancing light, 
Secure us kindly in our native night." 

I would not call any one a gentle reader who 
does not now and then take up a dull book, and 
enjoy it in the spirit in which it was written. 

Wise old Burton, in the Anatomy of Melan- 
choly, advises the restless person to " read some 
pleasant author till he be asleep." Many persons 
find the Anatomy of Melancholy to answer this 
purpose; though Dr. Johnson declares that it 



THE GENTLE READER 7 

was the only book that took him out of bed two 
hours before he wished to rise. It is hard to 
draw the line between stimulants and narcotics. 

This insistence on the test of the enjoyment 
of the dullness of a dull book is not arbitrary. 
It arises from the characteristic of the Gentle 
Reader. He takes a book for what it is and 
never for what it is not. If he does n't like it at 
all he does n't read it. If he does read it, it is 
because he likes its real quality. That is the 
way we do with our friends* They are the peo- 
ple of whom we say that " we get at them." I 
suppose every one of us has some friend of whom 
we would confess that as thinker he is inferior to 
Plato. But we like him no less for that. We 
might criticise him if we cared, — but we never 
care. We prefer to take him as he is. It is the 
flavor of his individuality that we enjoy. Appre- 
ciation of literature is the getting at an author, 
so that we like what he is, while all that he is not 
is irrelevant. 

There are those who endeavor to reduce literary 
criticism to an exact science. To this end they 
would eliminate the personal element, and sub- 
ject our admirations to fixed standards. In this 



8 THE GENTLE EEADER 

way it is hoped that we may ultimately be able 
to measure the road to Parnassus by kilometers. 
All this is much more easily said than done. 
Personal likings will not stay eliminated. We 
admire the acuteness of the critic who reveals the 
unsuspected excellence of our favorite writer. It 
is a pleasure like that which comes when a friend 
is received into a learned society. We don't 
know much about his learning, but we know that 
he is a good fellow, and we are glad to learn that 
he is getting on. We feel also a personal satis- 
faction in having our tastes vindicated and our 
enjoyment treated as if it were a virtue, just as 
Mr. Pecksniff was pleased with the reflection that 
while he was eating his dinner, he was at the 
same time obeying a law of the Universe. 

But the rub comes when the judgment of the 
critic disagrees with ours. We discover that his 
laws have no penalties, and that if we get more 
enjoyment from breaking than from obeying, 
then we are just that much ahead. As for giving 
up an author just because the judgment of the 
critic is against him, who ever heard of such a 
thing ? The stanchest canons of criticism are 
exploded by a genuine burst of admiration. 



THE GENTLE READER 9 

That is what happens whenever a writer of 
original force appears. The old rules do not 
explain him, so we must make new rules. Ke 
first enjoy him, and then we welcome the clever 
persons who assure us that the enjoyment is 
greatly to our credit. But — 

" You must love him ere to you 
He shall seem worthy of your love." 

. I asked a little four-year-old critic, whose liter- 
ary judgments I accept as final, what stories she 
liked best. She answered, " I like Joseph and 
Aladdin and The Forty Thieves and The Prob- 
able Son." 

It was a purely individual judgment. Some 
day she may learn that she has the opinion of 
many centuries behind her. When she studies 
rhetoric she may be able to tell why Aladdin is 
better than The Shaving of Shagpat, and why 
the story of " The Probable Son " delights her, 
while the half-hour homily on the parable makes 
not the slightest impression on her mind. The ) 
fact is, she knows a good story just as she knows 
a good apple. How the flavor got there is a sci- 
entific question which she has not considered ; 



10 THE GENTLE READER 

but being there, trust the uncloyed palate to find 
it out ! She does not set up as a superior person 
having good taste ; but she says, " I can tell you 
what tastes good." 

The Gentle Reader is not greatly drawn to any 
formal treatises. He does not enjoy a bare bit of 
philosophy that has been moulded into a fixed 
form. Yet he dearly loves a philosopher, espe- 
cially if he turns out to be a sensible sort of man 
who does n't put on airs. 

He likes the old Greek way of philosophizing. 
What a delight it was for him to learn that the 
Academy in Athens was not a white building with 
green blinds set upon a bleak hilltop, but a grove 
where, on pleasant days, Plato could be found, 
ready to talk with all comers ! That was some- 
thing like ; no board of trustees, no written ex- 
aminations, no text-books — just Plato ! You 
never knew what was to be the subject or where 
you were coming out ; all you were sure of was 
that you would come away with a new idea. Or 
if you tired of the Academy, there were the Per- 
ipatetics, gentlemen who were drawn together 
because they imagined they could think better on 
their legs ; or there were the Stoics, elderly per- 



THE GENTLE READER 11 

sons who liked to sit on the porch and discuss 
the "cosmic weather." No wonder the Greeks 
got such a reputation as philosophers ! They 
deserve no credit for it. Any one would like 
philosophy were it served up in that way. 

All that has passed. Were Socrates to come 
back and enter a downtown office to inquire after 
the difference between the Good and the Beauti- 
ful, he would be confronted with one of those 
neatly printed cards, intended to discourage the 
Socratic method during business hours : " This 
is our busy day." 

f The Gentle Reader also has his business hours, 
and has learned to submit to their inexorable re- 
quirements ; but now and then he has a few 
hours to himself. He declines an invitation to a 
progressive euchre party, on the ground of a pre- 
vious engagement he had made long ago, in his 
college days, to meet some gentlemen of the fifth 
century b. c. The evening passes so pleasantly, 
and the world seems so much fresher in interest, 
that he wonders why he does n't do that sort of 
thing oftener. Perhaps there are some other 
progressive euchre parties he could cut, and the 
world be none the worse. 



12 THE GENTLE EEADER 

How many people there have been who have 
gone through the world with their eyes open, and 
who have jotted down their impressions by the 
way ! How quickly these philosophers come to 
know their own. Listen to Izaak Walton in his 
Epistle to the Reader : " I think it fit to tell thee 
these following truths, that I did not undertake 
to write or publish this discourse of Fish and 
Fishing to please myself, and that I wish it may 
not displease others. And yet I cannot doubt 
but that by it some readers may receive so much 
profit that if they be not very busy men, may 
make it not unworthy the time of their perusal. 
And I wish the reader to take notice that in the 
writing of it I have made a recreation of a re- 
creation ; and that it might prove so to thee in 
the reading, and not to read dully and tediously, 
I have in several places mixed some innocent 
mirth ; of which if thou be a severe, sour-com- 
plexioned man, then I here disallow thee to be a 
competent judge. ... I am the willinger to jus- 
tify this innocent mirth because the whole dis- 
course is a kind of picture of my own disposition, 
at least of my disposition on such days and times 
as I allow myself — when Nat and I go fishing 



THE GENTLE READER 13 

together." How cleverly he bows out the ichthy- 
ologists! How he rebukes the sordid creature 
who has come simply to find out how to catch 
fish ! That is the very spirit of Simon Magus ! 
" Thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter! " 

The Gentle Reader has no ulterior aims. All 
he wants to know is how Izaak Walton felt when 
he went fishing, and what he was thinking about. 

"A kind of picture of a man's own disposi- 
tion," that is literature. Even the most futile 
attempt at self-revelation evokes sympathy. I 
remember, as a boy, gazing at an austere volume 
in my grandfather's library. It was, as far as I 
could ascertain, an indigestible mixture of the- 
ology and philology. But my eye was caught by 
the title, The Diversions of Purley. I had not 
the slightest idea who Purley was, but my heart 
went out to him at once. 

" Poor Purley ! " I said. " If these were your 
diversions, what a dog's life you must have led ! " 
I could see Purley gazing vaguely through his 
spectacles as he said : " Don't pity me ! It 's 
true I have had my trials, — but then again what 
larks! See that big book; I did it!" Only 
long after did I learn that my sympathy was un- 



U THE GENTLE READER 

called for, as Purley was not a person but a 
place. 

Of all the devices for promoting a good under- 
standing the old-fashioned Preface was the most 
excellent. It was not an introduction to the sub- 
ject, its purpose was personal. In these days the 
Preface, where it survives, is reduced to the small- 
est possible space. It is like the platform of an 
electric car which affords the passenger a preca- 
rious foothold while he strives to obey the stern 
demand of the conductor that he move forward. 
But time was when the Preface was the broad 
hospitable porch on which the Author and Reader 
sat for an hour or so and talked over the enter- 
prise that was before them. Sometimes they 
would talk so long that they almost forgot their 
ostensible subject. 

The very title of Sir William Davenant's 
" Preface before Gondibert " suggests the hospi- 
table leisure of the seventeenth century. Gondi- 
bert is a poetical masterpiece not to be lightly 
adventured upon. The mind must be duly pre- 
pared for it. Sir William, therefore, discourses 
about poetry in general, and then takes up special 
instances. 



THE GENTLE READER 15 

" I will (according as all times have applied 
their reverence) begin with Homer." 

" Homer is an admirable point of departure, 
and I have no doubt but that you will also tell 
what you think of Virgil," says the Gentle 
Reader, who when he is asked to go a mile is 
glad to go twain. 

Then follows discourse on Lucan, Statius,Tasso, 
and the rest. 

"But I feel (sir) that I am falling into the 
dangerous Fit of a hot writer ; for instead of per- 
forming the promise which begins this Preface, 
and doth oblige me (after I had given you the 
judgement of some upon others), to present my- 
self to your censure, I am wandering after new 
thoughts ; but I shall ask your pardon and return 
to my undertaking." 

"No apologies are necessary, I assure you. 
With new thoughts the rule is first come, first 
served, while an immortal masterpiece can wait 
till such time as we can enjoy it together." 

After some reflections on the fallibility of the 
clergy and the state of the country, the author 
proceeds to describe the general structure of his 
poem. 



16 THE GENTLE READER 

"I have now given you an account of such 
provisions as I have made for this new Building, 
and you may next please, having examined the 
substance, to take a view of the form." He points 
out the " shadowings, happy strokes, and sweet 
graces " of his work. This is done with an inti- 
macy of knowledge and fullness of appreciation 
that could not be possible in a stranger. 

" 'T is now fit, after I have given you so long a 
survey of the Building, to render you some ac- 
count of the Builder, that you may know by what 
times, pains, and assistance I have already pro- 
ceeded." 

The time passes with much pleasure and profit 
until at last the host says : " And now (sir) I 
shall after my busy vanitie in shewing and de- 
scribing my new Building, with great quietness, 
being almost as weary as yourself, bring you to 
the Back-dore." 

It is all so handsomely done that the reader is 
prepared to begin upon the poem itself, and would 
do so were it not that the distinguished friend of 
the author, Mr. Hobbes, has prepared An Answer 
to the Preface — a point of politeness which has 
not survived the seventeenth century. Mr. Hobbes 



' THE GENTLE READER 17 

is of the opinion that there is only one point in 
which Gondibert is inferior to the masterpieces 
of antiquity, and that is that it is written in 
English instead of in Greek or Latin. The 
Preface and Answer to the Preface having been 
read, the further discovery is made that there is a 
Postscript. 

The Author, it appears, has fallen on evil days, 
and is in prison charged with High Treason. 

" I am arrived here at the middle of the Third 
Book which makes an equal half of the Poem, 
and I was now by degrees to present you (as I 
promised in the Preface) the several keys to the 
Main Building, which should convey you through 
such short walks as give you an easie view of the 
whole Frame. But 't is high time to strike sail 
and cast anchor (though I have but run half my 
course), when at the Helme I am threatened with 
Death, who though he can trouble us but once 
seems troublesome, and even in the Innocent may 
beget such gravitie as diverts the Musick of 
Verse. I beseech thee if thou art as civill as to 
be pleased with what is written, not to take it ill 
that I run not till my last gasp. ... If thou art 
a malicious Reader thou wilt remember my Pre- 



18 THE GENTLE READER 

face boldly confessed that a main motive to this 
undertaking was a desire of Fame, and thou maist 
likewise say that I may not possibly live to enjoy it. 
... If thou (Reader) art one of those who has 
been warmed with Poetick Fire, I reverence thee 
as my Judge, and whilst others tax me with Van- 
itie as if the Preface argued my good Opinion 
of the Work, I appeal to thy Conscience whether 
it be much more than such a necessary assurance 
as thou hast made to thyself in like Under- 
takings." 

The Gentle Reader feels that whatever may be 
the merits of Gondibert, Sir William Davenant 
is a gallant gentleman and worthy of his lasting 
friendship. 

The Gentle Reader has a warm place in his 
heart for those whom he calls the paradisaical 
writers. These are the unfallen spirits who reveal 
their native dispositions and are not ashamed. 
They write about that which they find most inter- 
esting — themselves. They not only tell us what 
happens, but what they think and how they feel. 
We are made partners of their joys and sorrows. 
The first person singular is glorified by their use. 



THE GENTLE EEADER 19 

" But," says the Severe Moralist, " don't you 
frequently discover that these persons are vain?" 

"Precisely so," answers the Gentle Reader, 
" and that 's what I want to find out. How are 
you going to discover what an author thinks 
about himself if he hides behind a mask of im- 
personality ? There is no getting acquainted 
with such hypocrites. In five hundred pages you 
may not have a glimpse of the man behind the 
book, though he may be bubbling over with self- 
conceit. There was Alexander Cruden, one of 
the most eccentric persons of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. Fully persuaded of his own greatness, he 
called himself Alexander the Corrector and an- 
nounced that he was destined to be ' the second 
Joseph and a great man at court.' He haunted 
the ante-chambers of the nobility, but found only 
one nobleman who would listen to him, Earl 
Paulett, ' who being goutish in his feet could not 
run away from the Corrector as other men are 
apt to do.' Cruden appears to have spent his 
leisure moments in going about London with a 
large piece of sponge with which he erased any 
offensive chalk marks on the walls. ' This em- 
ployment,' says his biographer, ' occasionally 



20 THE GENTLE EEADER 

made his walks very tedious.' Now one might 
consult Cruden's ' Concordance of the Holy- 
Scriptures ' in vain for any hint of these idiosyn- 
crasies of the author. Perhaps the nature of the 
work made this impossible. But what shall we 
say of writers who, having no such excuse, take 
pains to conceal from us what manner of men 
they were. Even David Hume, whose good opin- 
ion of himself is a credit to his critical sagacity, 
assumes an apologetic tone when he ventures upon 
a sketch of his own life. ' It is difficult,' he 
says, ' for a man to speak long about himself 
without vanity ; therefore I shall be brief.' What 
obtuseness that shows- in a philosopher who actu- 
ally wrote a treatise on human nature! What 
did he know about human nature if he thought 
anybody would read an auto-biography that was 
without vanity ? Vanity is one of the most lov- 
able of weaknesses. If in our contemporaries it 
sometimes troubles us, that is only because two 
bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same 
time. But when it is all put in a book and the 
pure juices of self-satisfaction have been allowed 
to mellow for a few centuries, nothing can be 
more delicious." 



THE GENTLE READER 21 

His heart was won by a single sentence in one 
of Horace Walpole's letters : " I write to you as 
I think." To the writer who gives him this 
mark of confidence he is as faithful as is the 
Arab to the guest who has eaten salt in his tent. 
The books which contain the results of thought 
are common enough, but it is a rare privilege 
to share with a pleasant gentleman the act of 
thinking. If the thoughts are those which arise 
spontaneously out of the incidents of the passing 
day, so much the better. He therefore warmly 
resents Wordsworth's remark about " that cold 
and false-hearted, frenchified coxcomb, Horace 
Walpole." 

" What has Horace Walpole done except to 
give us a picture of his own disposition and inci- 
dentally of the world he lived in ? It is an in- 
stance of the ingratitude of Republics — and the 
Eepublic of Letters is the most ungrateful of 
them all — that this should be made the ground 
of a railing accusation against him. Walpole 
might answer as Timoleon did, when, after hav- 
ing restored the liberties of Syracuse, a citizen 
denounced him in the popular assembly. The 
Liberator replied : ' I cannot sufficiently express 



22 THE GENTLE READER 

my gratitude to the gods for granting my request 
in permitting me to see all the Syracusans enjoy 
the liberty of saying what they think fit.' A man 
who could write letters for sixty-two years re- 
vealing every phase of feeling for the benefit of 
posterity earns the right of making as magnani- 
mous a retort as that of any of Plutarch's men. 
He might well thank the gods for permitting 
him to furnish future generations with ample 
material for passing judgment upon him. For 
myself, I do not agree with Wordsworth. I have 
summered and wintered with Horace Walpole 
and he has never played me false ; he has shown 
himself exactly as he is. To be sure, he has his 
weaknesses, but he is always ready to share them 
with his friends. I suppose that is the reason 
why he is accused of being frenchified. A true 
born Englishman would have kept his faults to 
himself as if they were incommunicable attri- 
butes. I am not going to allow a bit of criticism 
to come between us at this late day. The rela- 
tion between Reader and Author is not to be 
treated so lightly. I believe that there is no 
reason for separation in such cases except incom- 
patibility of temper." 



THE GENTLE EEADER 23 

Then he makes his way to Strawberry Hill 
and listens to its master describing his posses- 
sion. "It is set in enameled meadows with 
filagree hedges, — 

'A small Euphrates through the piece is rolled 
And little finches wave their -wings of gold.' 

Two delightful roads, that you would call dusty, 
supply me continually with coaches and chaises ; 
barges as solemn as barons of the exchequer move 
under my window; Kichmond Hill and Ham 
Walks bound my prospects; but thank God! 
the Thames is between me and the Duchess of 
Queensberry. Dowagers as plenty as flounders 
inhabit all around ; and Pope's ghost is just now 
skimming under my window by a most poetical 
moonlight." 

It is pleasant to sit in the Gothic villa on 
Strawberry Hill and see the world pass by. The 
small Euphrates, the filagree hedges, and the 
gossiping dowagers, being in the foreground, 
appear more important than they do in the for- 
mal histories which have no perspective. But 
the great world does pass by, and the master of 
the house is familiar with it and recognizes every 



24 THE GENTLE READER 

important person in the procession. Was he not 
a Prime Minister's son, and were not his first 
letters written from Downing Street ? 

How rapidly the procession moves, giving only- 
time for a nod and a word ! The reader is like 
a country cousin in the metropolis bewildered 
by a host of new sensations. Now and then he 
smiles as some one whose name has been long 
familiar is pointed out. The chief wonder is 
that there are so many notabilities of whom he 
has never heard before. What an unconscion- 
able number of Duchesses there are, and each one 
has a history ! How different the Statesmen are 
from what he had imagined ; not nearly so wise 
but ever so much more amusing. Even the great 
William Pitt appears to be only " Sir William 
Quixote," and a fantastic figure he is ! Straw- 
berry Hill has its prejudices. It listens incredu- 
lously to the stories illustrative of incorruptible 
political virtue. They are tales to be told to 
Posterity. 

In regard to the historical drama that unfolds 
there is a pleasant ambiguity. Which is it that 
sees behind the scenes, — the writer or the present- 
day reader ? The reader representing Posterity 



THE GENTLE READER 25 

has a general notion of the progress of events. 
He thinks he knows how things actually came 
out and which were the more important. He is 
anxious to know how they strike a contemporary. 
But he is chastened by the discovery of the in- 
numerable incidents which Posterity has forgot- 
ten, but which made a great stir in their day. 
" The Tower guns have sworn through thick and 
thin that Prince Ferdinand has entirely demol- 
ished the French, and city bonfires all believe it." 
Prince Ferdinand " is the most fashionable man 
in England. Have not the Tower guns and all 
the parsons in London been ordered to pray for 
him?" 

The Gentle Reader is almost tempted to look 
up Prince Ferdinand, but is diverted from this 
inquiry by a bit of gossip about the Duke of 
Marlborough and the silver spoons. 

When he comes to the glorious year 1775 he 
is eager to learn the sensations of Walpole when 
the echoes of the " shot heard round the world " 
come to him. The shot is heard, but its effect 
is not so startling as might have been imagined. 
" I did but put my head into London on Thurs- 
day, and more bad news from America. I won- 



26 THE GENTLE HEADER 

der when it will be bad enough to make folks 
think it so, without going on ? " Then Walpole 
turns to something more interesting. " I have 
a great mind to tell you a Twickenham story." 

It is about a certain Captain Mawhood who 
had " applied himself to learn the classics and 
free-thinking and was always disputing with the 
parson of the parish about Dido and his own 
soul." 

It is not just what the Gentle Reader was ex- 
pecting, but he adapts himself cheerfully to the 
situation. 

" I was about to inquire what you thought 
about the American war, but we may come to 
that at some other time. Now let us have the 
Twickenham story." 

The Gentle Reader loves the writers who reveal 
their intellectual limitations, but he does not care 
for those who insist upon telling him their phy- 
sical ailments. He is averse to the letters and 
journals which are merely contributions to patho- 
logy. Indeed, he would, if he had his own way, 
allow the mention of only one malady, the gout. 
This is doubtless painful enough in the flesh, but 



THE GENTLE READER 27 

in a book it has many pleasant associations. Its 
intervals seem conducive to reminiscence, and its 
twinges are the occasions of eloquent objurga- 
tions which light up many an otherwise colorless 
page. 

With all his tolerance of vanity he dislikes 
that inverted kind which induces certain morbid 
persons to write out painful confessions of their 
own sins. He is willing to believe that they are 
far from perfect, but he is sceptical in regard to 
their claims to be the chief of sinners. It is 
hard to attain distinction in a line where there is 
so much competition. 

When he finds a book of Life and Letters 
unreadable, he does not bring a railing accusa- 
tion against either the biographer or the biogra- 
phee. 

They may both have been interesting persons, 
though the result in cold print is not exhilarat- 
ing. He knows how volatile is the charm- of 
personality, and how hard it is to preserve the 
best things. His friend, who is a great diner- 
out, says : " Those were delightful people I met 
at dinner yesterday, and what a capital story the 
judge told ! I laugh every time I think about it." 



28 THE GENTLE EEADER 

" What story ? " asks the Gentle Reader, eager 
for the crumbs that fall from the witty man's 
table. 

" I can't remember just what it was about, or 
what was the point of it ; but it was a good story, 
and you would have thought so, too, if you had 
heard the judge tell it." 

" I certainly should," replies the Gentle Reader, 
" and I shall always believe, on your testimony, 
that the judge is one of the best story-tellers in 
existence." 

In like manner he believes in interesting things 
that great men must have done which unfortu- 
nately were not taken down by any one at the 
time. 

The Gentle Reader himself is not much at 
home in fashionable literary society. He is a 
shy person, and his embarrassment is increased 
by the consciousness that he seldom gets round 
to a book till after people are through talking 
about it. Not that he prides himself on this 
fact; for he is far from cherishing the foolish 
prejudice against new books. 

" ' David Copperfield ' was a new book once, 



THE GENTLE READER 29 

and it was as good then as it is now." It simply 
happens that there are so many good books that 
it is hard to keep up with the procession. Be- 
sides, he has discovered that the books that are 
talked about can be talked about just as well 
without being read ; this leaves him more time 
for his old favorites. 

" I have a sweet little story for you," says the 
charming authoress. " I am sure you like sweet 
little stories." 

" Only one lump, if you please," says the 
Gentle Reader. 

In spite of his genial temperament there are 
some subjects on which he is intolerant. When 
he picks up a story that turns out to be only a 
Tract for the Times, he turns indignantly on the 
author. 

" Sirrah," he cries, under the influence of deep 
feeling, relapsing into the vernacular of romance, 
" you gained access to me under the plea that 
you were going to please me ; and now that you 
have stolen a portion of my time, you throw off 
all disguise, and admit that you entered with in- 
tent to instruct, and that you do not care whether 
you please me or not ! I 've a mind to have you 



30 THE GENTLE READER 

arrested for obtaining my attention under false 
pretenses ! How villainously we are imposed 
upon ! Only the other day a man came to me 
highly recommended as an architect. I employed 
him to build me a Castle in Spain, regardless of 
expense. When I suggested a few pleasant em- 
bellishments, the wretch refused on the ground 
that he never saw anything of the kind in the. 
town he came from, — Toledo, Ohio. If he had 
pleaded honest poverty of invention I should 
have forgiven him, but he took a high and mighty 
tone with me, and said that it was against his 
principles to allow any incident that was not 
probable. ' Who said that it should be proba- 
ble ? ' I replied. ' It is your business to make 
it seem probable.' " 

He highly disapproves of what he considers 
the cheese-paring economy on the part of certain 
novelists in the endowment of their characters. 
"Their traits are so microscopic, and require 
such minute analysis, that I get half through the 
book before I know which is which. It seems as 
if the writers were not sure that there was enough 
human nature to go around. They should study 
the good old story of Aboukir and Abousir. 



THE GENTLE EEADEE 31 

" ' There were in the city of Alexandria two 
men, — one was a dyer, and his name was Abou- 
kir; the other was a barber, and his name was 
Abousir. They were neighbors, and the dyer 
was a swindler, a liar, and a person of exceeding 
wickedness.' 

" Now, there the writer and reader start fair. 
There are no unnecessary concealments. You 
know that the dyer is a villain, and you are on 
your guard. You are not told in the first para- 
graph about the barber, but you take it for 
granted that he is an excellent, well-meaning man, 
who is destined to become enormously wealthy. 
And so it turns out. If our writers would only 
follow this straightforward method we should 
hear less about nervous prostration among the 
reading classes." He is very severe on the whim- 
sical notion, that never occurred to any one until 
the last century, of saying that the heroine is 
not beautiful. 

" Such a remark is altogether gratuitous. 
When I become attached to a young lady in fic- 
tion she always appears to me to be an extraor- 
dinarily lovely creature. It 's sheer impertinence 
for the author to intrude, every now and then, 



32 THE GENTLE READER 

just to call my attention to the fact that her com- 
plexion is not good, and that her features are ir- 
regular. It 's bad manners, — and, besides, I 
don't believe that it 's true." 

Nothing, however, so offends the Gentle Reader 
as the trick of elaborating a plot and then re- 
fusing to elucidate it, and leaving everything at 
loose ends. He feels toward this misdirected in- 
genuity as Miss Edgeworth's Harry did toward 
the conundrum which his sister proposed. 

" This is quite different," he said, " from the 
others. The worst of it is that after laboring 
ever so hard at one riddle it does not in the least 
lead to another. The next is always on some 
other principle." 

" Yes, to be sure," said Lucy. " Nobody who 
knows how to puzzle would give two riddles of 
the same kind ; that would be too easy." 

" But then, without something to guide one," 
said Harry, " there is no getting on." 

" Not in your regular way," said Lucy. 

" That is the very thing I complain of," said 
Harry. 

" Complain ! But my dear Harry, riddles are 
meant only to divert one." 



THE GENTLE READER 33 

" But they do not divert me," said Harry ; 
" they only puzzle me." 

The Gentle Eeader is inclined to impute un- 
worthy motives to the writer whose work merely 
puzzles him. 

"The lazy unscrupulous fellow takes a job, 
and then throws it up and leaves me to finish it 
for him. It 's a clear breach of contract ! That 
sort of thing would never have been allowed in 
any well-governed community. Fancy what would 
have happened in the court of Shahriar, where 
story-telling was taken seriously." 

Sheherazade has got Sindbad on the moving 
island. 

" How did he get off ? " asks the Sultan. 

" That 's for your majesty to find out," answers 
Sheherazade archly. " Maybe he got off, and 
maybe he did n't. That 's the problem." 

" Off with her head ! " says the Sultan. 

When sore beset by novelists who, under the 
guise of fiction, attempt to saddle him with " the 
weary weight of all this unintelligible world," 
the Gentle Reader takes refuge with one who 
has never deceived him. 

" What shall it be ? " says Sir Walter. 



34 THE GENTLE READER 

" As you please, Sir Walter." 

" No ! As you please, Gentle Eeader. If you 
have nothing else in mind, how would this do for 
a start ? — 

' Waken ! Lords and Ladies gay ! 
On the mountain dawns the day.' 

It 's a fine morning, and it 's a gallant company ! 
Let 's go with them ! " 

" Let 's ! " cries the Gentle Eeader. 




ttitfpttf 4 




^r^BXJ^s, 



^KOWNING'S description of the effect of 
Qx the recital of classic poetry upon a band of 
piratical Greeks must seem to many persons to 
be exaggerated : — 

" Then, because Greeks are Greeks, and hearts are hearts, 
And poetry is power, they all outbroke 
In a great joyous laughter -with much love." 

Because Americans are Americans, and business 
is business, and time is money, and life is earnest, 
we take our poetry much more seriously than 
that. We are ready to form classes to study it 
and to discuss it, but these solemn assemblies are 
not likely to be disturbed by outbursts of " great 
joyous laughter." 

We usually accept poetry as mental discipline. 
It is as if the poet said, " Go to, now. I will 



36 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

produce a masterpiece." Thereupon the consci- 
entious reader answers, " Very well ; I can stand 
it. I will apply myself with all diligence, that 
by means of it I may improve my mind." Who 
has not sometimes quailed before the long row of 
British Poets in uniform binding, standing stiffly 
side by side, like so many British grenadiers on 
dress parade ? Who has not felt his courage ooze 
away at the sight of those melancholy volumes 
labeled Complete Poetical Works ? Poetical Re- 
mains they used to call them, and there is some- 
thing funereal in their aspect. 

The old hymn says, " Religion never was de- 
signed to make our pleasures less," and the same 
thing ought to be said about poetry. The dis- 
taste for poetry arises largely from the habit of 
treating it as if it were only a more difficult kind 
of prose. We are so much under the tyranny of 
the scientific method that the habits of the school- 
room intrude, and we try to extract instruction 
from what was meant to give us joy. The prosaic 
commentary obscures the beauty of the text, so 
that 

" The glad old romance, the gay chivalrous story, 
With its fables of faery, its legends of glory, 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 37 

Is turned to a tedious instruction, not new, 

To the children, who read it insipidly through." 

One of the most ruthless invasions of the pro- 
saic faculties into the realm of poetry comes from 
the thirst for general information. When this 
thirst becomes a disease, it is not satisfied with 
census reports and encyclopaedia articles, but 
values literature according to the number of facts 
presented. Suppose these lines from " Paradise 
Lost " to be taken for study : — 

" Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks 
In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades 
High over-arched embower, or scattered sedge 
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed 
Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew 
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry." 

What an opportunity this presents to the 
schoolmaster ! " Come now," he cries with ped- 
agogic glee, " answer me a few questions. Where 
is Vallombrosa? What is the character of its 
autumnal foliage ? Bound Etruria. What is 
sedge ? Explain the myth of Orion ? Point out 
the constellation on the map of the heavens. 
Where is the Eed Sea ? Who was Busiris ? By 
what other name was he known ? Who were the 
Memphian Chivalry ? " 



38 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETEY 

Here is material for exhaustive research in 
geography, ancient and modern, history, botany, 
astronomy, meteorology, chronology, and archae- 
ology. The industrious student may get almost 
as much information out of " Paradise Lost " as 
from one of those handy compilations of useful 
knowledge, which are sold on the railway cars for 
twenty-five cents. As for the poetry of Milton, 
that is another matter. 

Next to the temptation to use a poem as a 
receptacle for a mass of collateral information 
is that to use it for the display of one's own 
penetration. As in the one case it is treated as 
if it were an encyclopaedia article, in the other 
it is treated as if it were a verbal puzzle. It is 
taken for granted that the intention of the poet 
is to conceal thought, and the game is for the 
reader to find it out. We are hunting for hid- 
den meanings, and we greet one another with the 
grim salutation of the creatures in the jungle : 
" Good hunting ! " " What is the meaning of 
this passage ? " Who has not heard this sudden 
question propounded in regard to the most trans- 
parent sentence from an author who is deemed 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 39 

worthy of study? The uninitiated, in the sim- 
plicity of his heart, might answer that he proba- 
bly means what he says. Not at all; if that 
were so, " what are we here for ? " We are here 
to find hidden meanings, and one who finds the 
meaning simple must be stopped, as Armado 
stops Moth, with 

" Define, define, well-educated infant." 

It is a verbal masquerade to which we have been 
invited. No knowing what princes in disguise, 
as well as anarchists and nihilists and other ob- 
jectionably interesting persons, may be discov- 
ered when the time for unmasking comes. 

Now, the effect of all this is that many persons 
turn away from the poets altogether. Why 
should they spend valuable time in trying to 
unravel the meaning of lines which were in- 
vented to baffle them ? There are plenty of 
things we do not understand, without going out 
of our way to find them. Then, as Pope ob- 
serves, 

" True No-meaning puzzles more than Wit." 

The poets themselves, as if conscious that they 
are objects of suspicion, are inclined to be apo- 



40 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

logetic, and endeavor to show that they are doing 
business on a sound prosaic basis. Wordsworth 
set the example of such painstaking self-justifi- 
cation. His conscience compelled him to make 
amends to the literal minded Public for poetic 
indiscretions, and to offer to settle all claims for 
damages. What a shame-faced excuse he makes 
for the noble lines on Rob Roy's grave. " I 
have since been told that I was misinformed 
as to the burial-place of Rob Roy ; if so, I may 
plead in excuse that I wrote on apparently good 
authority, namely that of a well-educated lady 
who lived at the head of the lake." 

One is reminded of the preface to the works 
of The Sweet Singer of Michigan : " This little 
book is composed of truthful pieces. All those 
which speak of being killed, died, or drowned 
are truthful songs, others are more truth than 
poetry." 

It is against this mistaken conscientiousness 
that the Gentle Reader protests. He insists that 
the true " defense of poesy " is that it has an 
altogether different function from prose. It is 
not to be appreciated by the prosaic understand- 
ing ; unless, indeed, that awkward faculty be 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETEY 41 

treated to some Delsartean decomposing exer- 
cises to get rid of its stiffness. 

"When I want more truth than poetry," he 
says, " I will go directly to The Sweet Singer of 
Michigan, or I will inquire of the well-educated 
lady who lives at the head of the lake. I do not 
like to have a poet troubled about such small 
matters." 

Then he reads with approval the remarks of 
one of his own order who lived in the seventeenth 
century, who protests against those " who take 
away the liberty of a poet and fetter his feet in 
the shackles of an historian. For why should a 
poet doubt in story to mend the intrigues of 
fortune by more delightful conveyances of prob- 
able fictions because austere historians have en- 
tered into bond to truth; an obligation which 
were in poets as foolish and unnecessary as is 
the bondage of false martyrs, who lie in chains 
for a mistaken opinion. But by this I would 
imply that truth, narrative and past, is the idol 
of historians (who worship a dead thing), and 
truth operative and by effects continually alive is 
the mistress of poets, who hath not her existence 
in matter but in reason." 



42 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

I am well aware that the attitude of the Gen- 
tle Reader seems to many strenuous persons to be 
unworthy of our industrial civilization. These 
persons insist that we shall make hard work of 
our poetry, if for no other reason than to preserve 
our self-respect. Here as elsewhere they insist 
upon the stern law that if a man will not labor 
neither shall he eat. Even the poems of an ear- 
lier and simpler age which any child can under- 
stand must be invested with some artificial diffi- 
culty. The learned guardians of these treasures 
insist that they cannot be appreciated unless 
there has been much preliminary wrestling with 
a "critical apparatus," and much delving among 
"original sources." This is the same principle 
that makes the prudent householder provide a 
sharp saw and a sufficient pile of cord wood as 
a test to be applied to the stranger who asks for a 
breakfast. There is much academic disapproval 
of one who in defiance of all law insists on enjoy- 
ing poetry after his own " undressed, unpolished, 
uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlet- 
tered, or ratherest unconfirmed fashion." I, how- 
ever, so thoroughly sympathize with the Gentle 
Reader that I desire to present his point of view. 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 43 

To understand poetry is a vain ambition. That 
which we fully understand is the part that is not 
poetry. It is that which passes our understand- 
ing which has the secret in itself. There is an 
incommunicable grace that defies all attempts at 
analysis. Poetry is like music ; it is fitted, not to 
define an idea or to describe a fact, but to voice 
a mood. The mood may be the mood of a very 
simple person, — the mood of a shepherd watch- 
ing his flocks, or of a peasant in the fields ; or, 
on the other hand, it may be the mood of a phi- 
losopher whose mind has been engrossed with the 
most subtle problems of existence. But in each 
case the mood, by some suggestion, must be com- 
municated to us. Thoughts and facts must be 
transfigured ; they must come to us as through 
some finer medium. As we are told that we 
must experience religion before we know what 
religion is, so we must experience poetry. The 
poet is the enchanter, and we are the willing vic- 
tims of his spells : — 

" Would'st thou see 

A man i' th' clouds and hear him speak to thee ? 

Would'st thou be in a dream and yet not sleep ? 

Or would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep ? 



44 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETKY 

Wouldest thou lose thyself and catch no harm ? 
And find thyself again -without a charm ? 

then come hither 
And lay my book, thy head and heart together." 

Only the reader who yields to the charm can 
dream the dream. The poet may weave his story 
of the most common stuff, but ".-there 's magic in 
the web of it." If we are conscious of this magi- 
cal power, we forgive the lack of everything else. 
The poet may be as ignorant as Aladdin himself^ 
but he has a strange power over our imagina- 
tions. At his word they obey, traversing conti- 
nents, building palaces, painting pictures. They 
say, "We are ready to obey as thy slaves, and 
the slaves of all that have that lamp in their 
hands, — we and the other slaves of the lamp." 

This is the characteristic of the poet's power. 
He does not construct a work of the imagina- 
tion, — he makes our imaginations do that. That 
is why the fine passages of elaborate description 
in verse are usually failures. The verse-maker 
describes accurately and at length. The poet 
speaks a word, and Presto ! change ! We are 
transported into a new land, and our eyes are 
"baptized into the grace and privilege of see- 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 45 

ing." Many have taken in hand to write de- 
scriptions of spring; and some few painstaking 
persons have nerved themselves to read what has 
been written. I turn to the prologue of the 
" Canterbury Tales ; " it is not about spring, it 
is spring, and I am among those who long to go 
upon a pilgrimage. A description of a jungle 
is an impertinence to one who has come under 
the spell of William Blake's 

" Tiger ! tiger ! burning bright 
In tbe forest of the night." 

Those fierce eyes glowing there in the darkness 
sufficiently illuminate the scene. Immediately it 
is midsummer, and we feel all its delicious 
languor when Browning's David sings of 

" The sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes tell 
That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well." 

The first essential to the enjoyment of poetry 
is leisure. The demon Hurry is the tempter, 
and knowledge is the forbidden fruit in the 
poet's paradise. To enjoy poetry, you must 
renounce not only your easily besetting sins, 
but your easily besetting virtues as well. You 
must not be industrious, or argumentative, or 
conscientious, or strenuous. I do not mean that 



46 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

you must be a person of unlimited leisure and 
without visible means of support. I have known 
some very conscientious students of literature 
who, when off duty, found time to enjoy poetry. 
I mean that if you have only half an hour for 
poetry, for that half hour you must be in a 
leisurely frame of mind. 

The poet differs from the novelist in that he 
requires us to rest from our labors. The ordi- 
nary novel is easy reading, because it takes us 
as we are, in the midst of our hurry. The mind 
has been going at express speed all the day ; 
what the novelist does is to turn the switch, and 
off we go on another track. The steam is up, 
and the wheels go around just the same. The 
great thing is still action, and we eagerly turn 
the pages to see what is going to happen next, — 
unless we are reading some of our modern real- 
istic studies of character. Even then we are 
lured on by the expectation that, at the last 
moment, something may happen. But when we 
turn to the poets, we are in the land of the lotus- 
eaters. The atmosphere is that of a perfect day, 

" Whereon it is enough for me 
Not to be doing, but to be." 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 47 

Into this land our daily cares cannot follow us. 
It is an 

" enchanted land, we know not where, 
But lovely as a landscape in a dream." 

Once in this enchanted country, haste seems 
foolish. Why should we toil on as if we were 
walking for a wager? It is as if one had the 
privilege of joining Izaak Walton as he loiters 
in the cool shade of a sweet honeysuckle hedge, 
and should churlishly trudge on along the dusty 
highway rather than accept the gentle angler's 
invitation : " Pray, let us rest ourselves in this 
sweet, shady arbor of jessamine and myrtle ; and 
I will requite you with a bottle of sack, and when 
you have pledged me, I will repeat the verses I 
promised you." One may, as a matter of strict 
conscience, be both a pedestrian and a prohibi- 
tionist, and yet not find it in his heart to decline 
such an invitation. 

The poets who delight us with their verses are 
not always serious-minded persons with an im- 
portant thought to communicate. When I read, 

" In Xanadu did Kuhlai Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree," 

I am not a bit wiser than I was before, but I am 



48 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

a great deal happier ; although I have not the 
slightest idea where Xanadu was, and only the 
vaguest notion of Kublai Khan. 

There are poems whose charm lies in their 
illusiveness. Fancy any one trying to explain 
Rossetti's "Blessed Damozel." Yet when the 
mood is on us we see her as she leans : — 

" From the gold bar of Heaven : 
Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even ; 
She had three lilies in her hand 
And the stars in her hair were seven." 

We look over the mystic ramparts and are 
dimly conscious that 

" the souls mounting up to God 
Went by her like thin flames." 

This is not astronomy nor theology, nor any of the 
things we know all about — it is only poetry. 

Let no one trouble me by attempting to eluci- 
date " Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." 
I do not care for a Baedeker. I prefer to lose 
my way. I love the darkness rather than light. I 
do not care for a topographical chart of the hills 
that 

" like giants at a hunting lay, 
Chin upon hand." 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 49 

The mood in which we enjoy such poetry is 
that described in Emerson's " Forerunners." 

" Long I followed happy guides, 
I could never reach their sides. 

But no speed of mine avails 

To hunt upon their shining trails. 



On eastern hills I see their smokes, 
Mixed with mist by distant lochs. 
I met many travelers 
Who the road had surely kept : 
They saw not my fine revelers." 

If our thoughts make haste to join these " fine 
revelers," rejoicing in the sense of freedom and 
mystery, delighting in the mist and the wind, 
careless of attaining so that we may follow the 
shining trails, all is well. 

As there are poems which are not meant to be 
understood, so there are poems that are not meant 
to be read ; that is, to be read through. There is 
Keats's " Endymion," for instance. I have never 
been able to get on with it. Yet it is delight- 
ful, — that is the very reason why I do not care 
to get on with it. Wherever I begin, I feel that 
I might as well stay where I am. It is a sweet 
wilderness into which the reader is introduced. 



50 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETKY 

" Paths there were many, 
Winding through palmy fern and rushes fenny 
And ivy hanks ; all leading pleasantly 
To a wide lawn. . . . 

Who could tell 
The freshness of the space of heaven ahove, 
Edged round with dark tree-tops ? — through which a dove 
Would often beat its wings, and often, too, 
A little cloud would move across the blue." 

We are brought into the very midst of this plea- 
santness. Deep in the wood we see fair faces and 
garments white. We see the shepherds coming 
to the woodland altar. 

" A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks 
As may be read of in Arcadian books ; 
Such as sat list'ning round Apollo's pipe 
When the great deity, for earth too ripe, 
Let his divinity o'erfl owing die 
In music, through the vales of Thessaly." 

We see the venerable priest pouring out the 

sweet-scented wine, and then we see the young 

Endymion himself : — 

" He seemed 
To common lookers-on like one who dreamed 
Of idleness in groves Elysian." 

What happened next ? What did Endymion 
do ? Really, I do not know. It is so much 
pleasanter, at this point, to close the book, and 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETEY 51 

dream " of idleness in groves Elysian." The 
chances are that when one turns to the poem 
again he will not begin where he left off, but at 
the beginning, and read as if he had never read 
it before ; or rather, with more enjoyment because 
he has read it so many times : — 

" A thing of beauty is a joy forever : 
Its loveliness increases ; it will never 
Pass into nothingness ; but still "will keep 
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing." 

Shelley describes a mood such as Keats brings 
to us : — 

"My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim 
Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing 
Far away into regions dim 
Of rapture, as a boat with swift sails winging 
Its way adown some many-winding river." 

He who finds himself afloat upon the " many- 
winding river" throws aside the laboring oar. It 
is enough to float on, — he cares not whither. 

What greater pleasure is there than in the 
" Idylls of the King " provided we do not study 
them, but dream them. We must enter into the 
poet's own mood : — 



52 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

" I seemed 
To sail with Arthur under looming shores, 
Point after point, till on to dawn, when dreams 
Begin to feel the truth and stir of day." 

It is good to be there, in that far-off time, good 
to come to Camelot : — 

" Built by old kings, age after age, 
So strange and rich and dim." 

All we see of kings, and magicians, and ladies, 
and knights is " strange and rich and dim." 
Over everything is a luminous haze. There are 

" hollow tramplings up and down, 
And muffled voices heard, and shadows past." 

There is the flashing of swords, the weaving of 
spells, the seeing of visions. All these things 
become real to us ; not simply the stainless king 
and the sinful queen, the prowess of Lancelot 
and the love of Elaine, but the magic of Merlin 
and the sorceries of Vivien, with her charms 

" Of woven paces and of waving hands." 

And we must stand at last with King Arthur 
on the shore of the mystic sea, and see the barge 
come slowly with the three queens, " black-stoled, 
black-hooded, like a dream ; " and hear across 
the water a cry, 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 53 

"As it were one voice, an agony 
Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills 
All night in a waste land, where no one comes, 
Or hath come, since the making of the world." 

But what good is there in all this ? Why waste 
time on idle dreams ? We hear Walt Whitman's 
challenge to romantic poetry : — 

"Arthur vanished with all his knights, Merlin and Lancelot 
and Galahad, all gone, dissolved utterly like an ex- 
halation ; 

Embroidered, dazzling, foreign world, with all its gorgeous 
legends, myths, 

Its kings and castles proud, its priests and warlike lords and 
courtly dames, 

Passed to its charnel vault, coffined with crown and armor on, 

Blazoned with Shakspere's purple page 

And dirged by Tennyson's sweet sad rhyme." 

Away with the old romance ! Make room for the 
modern bard, who is 

" Bluffed not a bit by drain-pipes, gasometers, and artificial 

fertilizers." 

The Gentle Reader, also, is not to be bluffed by 
any useful things, however unpleasant they may 
be, but he winces a little as he reads that the 
" far superber themes for poets and for art " in- 
clude the teaching by the poet of how 



54 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

" To use the hammer and the saw (rip or cross-cut), 
To cultivate a turn for carpentering-, plastering 1 , painting-, 
To work as tailor, tailoress, nurse, hostler, porter, 
To invent a little something ingenious to aid the washing, 
cooking, cleaning." 

The Muse of Poetry shrieks at the mighty lines 
in praise of "leather-dressing, coach-making, 
boiler-making," and the rest. Boiler-making, she 
protests, is a useful industry and highly to be 
commended, but it is not music. When asked 
to give a reason why she should not receive all 
these things as poetry, the Muse is much em- 
barrassed. " It 's all true," she says. " Leather- 
dressing and boiler-making are undoubted real- 
ities, while Arthur and Lancelot may be myths." 
Yet she is not quite ready to be off with the old 
love and on with the new, — it 's all so sudden. 

Whitman himself furnishes the best illustra- 
tions of the difference between poetry and prose. 
He comes like another Balaam to prophesy 
against those who associate poetry with beauty 
of form and melody of words ; and then the 
poetic spirit seizes upon him and lifts him into 
the region of harmony. In the Song of the 
Universal he declares that — 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETKY 55 

" From imperfection's murkiest cloud 
Darts always forth one ray of perfect light, 
One flash of heaven's glory. 
To fashion's, customs discord, 
To the mad Babel's din, the deafening orgies, 
Soothing each lull, a strain is heard, just heard 
From some far shore, the final chorus sounding. 
O the blest eyes, the happy hearts 
That see, that know the guiding thread so fine 
Along the mighty -labyrinth." 

There speaks the poet declaring the true faith, 
which except a man believe he is condemned 
everlastingly to the outer darkness. His task 
is selective. No matter about the murki- 
ness of the cloud he must make us see the 
ray of perfect light. In the mad Babel-din he 
must hear and repeat the strain of pure music. 
As to the field of choice, it may be as wide as 
the world, but he must choose as a poet, and not 
after the manner of the man with the muck-rake. 

" In this broad earth of ours 
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, 
Inclosed and safe within the central heart 
Nestles the seed perfection." 

When the poet delves in the grossness and the 
slag, he does so as one engaged in the search for 
the perfect. 



56 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETEY 

" My feeling," says the Gentle Header, " about 
the proper material for poetry, is very much like 
that of Whitman in regard to humanity — 

' When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite, and are my 

friendly companions, 
I intend to reach them my hand and make as much of them as 

I do of men and women like you.' 

" So I say, when drain pipes and cross-cut saws 
and the beef on the butcher's stalls are invested 
with beautiful associations and thrill my soul in 
some mysterious fashion, then I will make as 
much of these things as I do of the murmuring 
pines and the hemlocks. When a poet makes 
bank clerks and stevedores and wood-choppers 
to loom before my imagination in heroic pro- 
portions, I will receive them as I do the heroes 
of old. But, mind you, the miracle must be 
actually performed ; T will not be put off with a 
prospectus." 

Now and then the miracle is performed. We 
are made to feel the romance that surrounds the 
American pioneer, we hear the 

" Crackling 1 hlows of axes sounding musically, driven by strong 
arms." 

But, for the most part, Whitman, when under 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 57 

the influence of deep feeling, forgets his theory, 
and uses as his symbols those things which have 
already been invested with poetical associations. 
Turn to that marvelous dirge, " When Lilacs last 
in the Dooryard bloomed." There is here no 
catalogue of facts or events, no parade of glaring 
realism. Tennyson's " sweet sad rhyme " has 
nowhere more delicious music than we find in 
the measured cadence of these lines. We are 
not told the news of the assassination of Lincoln 
as a man on the street might tell it. It comes to 
us through suggestion. We are made to feel a 
mood, not to listen to the description of an event. 
There is symbolism, suggestion, color mystery. 
We inhale the languorous fragrance of the 
lilacs ; we see the drooping star ; in secluded 
recesses we hear " a shy and hidden bird " war- 
bling a song ; there are dim-lit churches and 
shuddering organs and tolling bells, and there is 
one soul heart-broken, seeing all and hearing all. 

" Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to 

keep, for the dead I loved so well, 
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands — and 

this for his dear sake, 
Lilae and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, 
There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim." 



58 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

This is real poetry, and yet while we yield to the 

charm we are conscious that it is made up of the 

old familiar elements. 

Tennyson's apology to a utilitarian age was 

not needed : — 

" Perhaps some modern touches here and there 
Redeemed it from the charge of nothingness." 

The " modern touches " we can spare. The 
modern life we have always with us ; but it is 
a rare privilege to enjoy the best things of the 
past. It is the poet who is the minister of this 
fine grace. The historian tells us what men of 
the past did, the philosopher tells us how their 
civilizations developed and decayed ; we smile at 
their superstitions, and pride ourselves upon our 
progress. But the ethereal part has vanished, 
that which made their very superstitions beauti- 
ful and cast a halo over their struggles. These 
are the elements out of which the poet creates 
his world, into which we may enter. In the 
order of historic development chivalry must give 
way before democracy, and loyalty to the king 
must fade before the increasing sense of liberty 
and equality ; but the highest ideals of chivalry 
may remain. Imaginative and romantic poetry 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 59 

has this high mission to preserve what otherwise 
would be lost. It lifts the mind above the daily 
routine into the region of pure joy. Whatever 
necessary changes take place in the world we 
find, in 

" All lovely tales which we have heard or read, 
An endless fountain of immortal drink, 
Pouring unto us from the heaven's Drink." 

I have said that one may be a true poet with- 
out having any very important thought to com- 
municate, but it must be said that most of the 
great poets have been serious thinkers as well. 
They have had their philosophy of life, their 
thoughts about nature and about human duty 
and destiny. It is the function of the poet not 
only to create for us an ideal world and to fill it 
with ideal creatures, but also to reveal to us the 
ideal element in the actual world. 

" I do not know what poetical is," says Audrey. 
" Is it honest in deed and word ? Is it a true 
thing ? " "We must not answer with Touchstone : 
" No, truly ! for the truest poetry is the most 
feigning." 

The poetical interpretation of the world is not 



60 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

feigning ; ifc is a true thing, — the truest thing of 
which we can know. The grace and sublimity 
which we see through the poet's eyes are real. 
We must, however, still insist on our main con- 
tention. The poet, if he is to hold us, must always 
be a poet. His thought must be in solution, 
and not appear as a dull precipitate of prose. 
He may be philosophical, but he must not phi- 
losophize. He may be moral, but he must not 
moralize. He may be religious, but let him spare 
his homilies. 

" Whatever the philosopher saith should be 
done," said Sir Philip Sidney ; " the peerless 
poet giveth a perfect picture of it. He yieldeth 
to the power of the mind an image of that of 
which the philosopher bestoweth but a wordish 
description. . . . The poet doth not only show 
the way, but doth give so sweet a prospect unto 
the way as will entice any man to enter it. Nay, 
he doth as if your journey should lie through a 
fair vineyard, at first give you a cluster of 
grapes." 

We have a right to ask our poets to be plea- 
sant companions even when they discourse on the 
highest themes. Even when they have theories 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 61 

of their own about what we should enjoy, let us 
not allow them to foist upon us " wordish descrip- 
tions " of excellent things instead of poetry. 
When the poet invites me to go with him I first 
ask, " Let me taste your grapes." 

You remember Mr. By-ends in the " Pilgrim's 
Progress," — how he said of Christian and Hope- 
ful, " They are headstrong men who think it their 
duty to rush on in their journey in all weathers, 
while I am for waiting for wind or tide. I am 
for Religion when he walks in his silver slippers 
in the sunshine." That was very reprehensible 
in Mr. By-ends, and he richly deserved the re- 
buke which was afterward administered to him. 
But when we change the subject, and speak, not 
of religion, but of poetry, I confess that I am 
very much of Mr. By-ends' way of thinking. 
There are literary Puritans who, when they take 
up the study of a poet, make it a point of con- 
science to go on to the bitter end of his poetical 
works. If they start with Wordsworth on his 
" Excursion," they trudge on in all weathers. 
They do the poem, as when going abroad they do 
Europe in six weeks. As the revival hymn says, 
"doing is a deadly thing." Let me say, good 



62 THE ENJOYMENT OF POETRY 

Christian and Hopeful, that though I admire 
your persistence, I cannot accompany you. I 
am for a poet only when he puts on his singing 
robes and walks in the sunshine. As for those 
times when he goes on prosing in rhyme from 
force of habit, I think it is more respectful as 
well as more pleasurable to allow him to walk 
alone. 

Shelley's definition of poetry as " the record of 
the best and happiest moments of the happiest 
and best minds " suggests the whole duty of the 
reader. All that is required of him is to obey 
the Golden Rule. There must be perfect reci- 
procity and fraternal sympathy. The poet, being 
human, has his unhappy hours, when all things 
are full of labor. Upon such hours the Gentle 
Reader does not intrude. In their happiest mo- 
ments they meet as if by chance. In this en- 
counter they are pleased with one another and 
with the world they live in. How could it be 
otherwise ? It is indeed a wonderful world, trans- 
figured in the light of thought. Familiar objects 
lose their sharp outlines and become symbols of 
universal realities. Likenesses, before unthought 



THE ENJOYMENT OF POETEY 63 

of, appear. Nature becomes a mirror of the soul, 
and answers instantly to each passing mood. 
Words are no longer chosen, they come unbidden 
as the poet and his reader 

" mount to Paradise 
By the stairway of surprise." 



^ ^mm mi %mM 



-~^^t«3^-*^ 



K 



" The Last Tournament " we are told how 



" Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his moods 
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, 
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, 
Danced like a withered leaf before the hall." 

That is the view which many worthy people take 
of the humorist. He is Sir Dagonet. Among the 
serious persons who are doing the useful work 
of the world, discovering its laws, classifying its 
facts, forecasting its future, this light-minded, 
light-hearted creature comes with his untimely 
jests. In their idle moments they tolerate the 
mock-knight, but when important business is on 
hand they dismiss him, as did Sir Tristram, with 

" Why skip ye so, Sir Fool ? " 

This half-contemptuous view is very painful to 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 65 

the Gentle Eeader who, though he may seem to 
some to take his poetry too lightly, is disposed to 
take his humor rather seriously. Humor seems 
to him to belong to the higher part of our nature. 
It is not the enjoyment of a grotesque image in a 
convex mirror, but, rather, the recognition of 
fleeting forms of truth. 

" I have brought you a funny book, Gentle 
Eeader," says the Professional Humorist. 

" Thank you," he answers, struggling against 
his melancholy forebodings. " You will pardon 
me if I seem to take my pleasures sadly." 

It is hard for him to force a smile as he watches 
the procession of jokes, each as broad as it is long. 
This ostentatious jocosity is not to his liking. 

" Thackeray," he says, " defines humor as a l~- 
mixture of love and wit. Humor, therefore, being 
of the nature of love, should not behave itself un- 
seemly." 

He cannot bear to see it obtruding itself upon 
the public. Its proper habit is to hide from ob- s 
servation "as if the wren taught it concealment." 
When a Happy Thought ventures abroad it should 
be as a royal personage traveling incognito. 

This is a big world, and it is serious business 



66 THE MISSION OF HUMOR m 

to live in it. It makes many demands. It re- 
quires intensity of thought and strenuousness of 
will and solidity of judgment. Great tasks are 
set before us. We catch fugitive glimpses of 
beauty, and try to fix them forever in perfect 
form, — that is the task of art. We see thou- 
sands of disconnected facts, and try to arrange 
them in orderly sequence, — that is the task of 
science. We see the ongoing of eternal force, 
and seek some reason for it, — that is the task of 
philosophy. 

But when art and science and philosophy have 
done their best, there is a great deal of valuable 
material left over. There are facts that will not 
fit into any theory, but which keep popping up 
at us from the most unexpected places. Nobody 
can tell where they come from or why they are 
here ; but here they are. Try as hard as we may 
for perfection, the net result of our labors is an 
amazing variety of imperfectnesses. We are sur- 
prised at our own versatility in being able to fail 
in so many different ways. Everything is under 
the reign of strict law ; but many queer things 
happen, nevertheless. What are we to do with 
all the waifs and strays? What are we to do 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 67 

with all the sudden incongruities which mock at 
our wisdom and destroy the symmetry of our 
ideas ? 

The solemnly logical intelligence ignores their 
existence. It does not trouble itself about any- 
thing which does not belong to its system. The 
system itself has such perfect beauty that it is its 
own excuse for being. 

More sensitive and less self-centred natures do 
not find the way so easy. They allow themselves 
to be worried by the incongruities which they 
cannot ignore. It seems to them that whenever 
they are in earnest the world conspires to mock 
them. Continually they feel that intellect and 
conscience are insulted by whipper-snappers of 
facts that have no right to be in an orderly uni- 
verse. They can expose a lie, and feel a certain 
superiority in doing it ; but a little unclassified, 
irreconcilable truth drives them to their wit's end. 
There it stands in all its shameless actuality ask- 
ing, " What do you make of me ? " * 

Just here comes the beneficent mission of 
humor. It takes these unassorted realities that 
are the despair of the sober intelligence, and 
extracts from them pure joy. If life depends on 



68 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

the perpetual adjustment of the organism to its 
environment, humor is the means by which the 
intellectual life is sustained on those occasions 
when the expected environment is not there. The 
adjustment must be made, without a moment's 
warning, to an altogether new set of conditions. 
We are called upon to swap horses while crossing 
the stream. It is a method which the serious 
minded person does not approve. While argu- 
ing the matter he is unhorsed, and finds himself 
floundering in the water. The humorist accepts 
the situation instantly. As he scrambles upon 
his new nag it is with a sense of triumph, for the 
moment at least, he feels that he has the best of 
the bargain. 

One may have learned to enjoy the sublime, 
the beautiful, the useful, the orderly, but he has 
missed something if he has not also learned to 
enjoy the incongruous, the illusive, and the unex- 
pected. Artistic sensibility finds its satisfaction 
only in the perfect. Humor is the frank enjoy- 
ment of the imperfect. Its objects are not so 
high, — but there are more of them. 

Evolution is a cosmic game of Pussy wants a 
corner. Each creature has its eye on some snug 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 69 

corner where it would rest in peace. Each cor- 
ner is occupied by some creature that is not 
altogether satisfied and that is on the lookout 
for a larger sphere. There is much beckoning 
between those who are desirous of making a 
change. Now and then some bold spirit gives 
up his assured position and scrambles for some- 
thing better. The chances are that the adven- 
turer finds it harder to attain the coveted place 
than he had thought. For the fact is that there 
are not corners enough to go around. If there 
were enough corners, and every one were content 
to stay in the one where he found himself at the 
beginning, then the game would be impossible. 
It is well that this never happens. Nature looks 
after that. When things are too homogeneous 
she breaks them up into new and amazing kinds 
of heterogeneity. It is a good game, and one 
learns to like it after he enters into the spirit 
of it. 

If the Universe had a place for everything 
and everything was in its place, there would be 
little demand for humor. As a matter of fact 
the world is full of all sorts of people, and they 
are not all in their proper places. There are 



70 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

amazing incongruities between station and char- 
acter. It is not a world that has been reduced 
to order ; it is still in the making. One may 
easily grow misanthropic and pessimistic by 
dwelling upon the misfits. 

" As to behold desert a beggar born 
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity. 



And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
And simple truth miscalled simplicity, 
And folly doctor-like, controlling skill, 
And captive good attending captive ill." 

But fortunately these incongruities are not 
altogether tragical. There are certain moods 
when we rather enjoy seeing "needy nothing 
trimmed in jollity." We are pleased when Jus- 
tice Shallow slaps Sir John Falstaff on the back 
and says, " Ha ! it was a merry night, Sir John." 
We are not irritated beyond endurance because 
in this world where so many virtuous people have 
a hard time, such trifling fellows as Sir Toby and 
Sir Andrew have their cakes and ale. When 
folly puts on doctor-like airs it is not always 
disagreeable. We would not have Dogberry 
put off the watch to give place to some one who 
could pass the civil service examination. 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 71 

The humorist, when asked what he thinks of 
the actual world, would turn upon his questioner 
as Touchstone turned upon Corin when he was 
asked how he liked the shepherd's life : — 

" Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? " 
The world is not at all like the descriptions of 
it, and yet he cannot take a very gloomy view of 
it. In respect to itself it is a good world, and 
yet in respect that it is not finished it leaves 
much to be desired. Yet in respect that it 
leaves much to be desired, and much to be done 
by us, it is perhaps better for us than if it were 
finished. In respect that many things happen 
that are opposed to our views of the eternal fit- 
ness of things, it is a perplexing world. Yet in 
respect that we have a faculty for enjoying the 
occasional unfitness of things, it is delightful. 
On the whole, he sums up with Touchstone, " It 
suits my humor well." 

Humor is impossible to the man of one idea. \ 
There must be at least two ideas moving in oppo- 
site directions, so that there may be a collision. 
Such an accident does not happen in a mind 
under economical management that runs only one / 
train of thought a day. 



72 THE MISSION OF HUMOE 

There are many ideas that have a very inse- 
cure tenure. They hold their own as squatters. 
By and by Science will come along and evict 
them, but in the mean time these homely folk 
make very pleasant neighbors. All they ask is 
that we shall not take them too seriously. That 
a thing is not to be taken too seriously does not 
imply that it is either unreal or unimportant : — 
it only means that it is not to be taken that 
way. There is, for example, a pickaninny on a 
Southern plantation. The anthropologist mea- 
sures his skull and calls it by a long Latin name. 
The psychologist carefully records his nervous 
reactions. The pedagogical expert makes him 
the victim of that form of inquisition known as 
" child study." The missionary perplexes him- 
self in vain attempting to get at his soul. Then 
there comes along a person of another sort. At 
the first look, a genial smile of recognition comes 
over the face of this new spectator. He is the 
first one who has seen the pickaninny. The one 
essential truth about a black, chubby, kinky- 
haired pickaninny is that, when he rolls up his 
eyes till only the whites are visible, he is irre- 
sistibly funny. This is what theologians term 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 73 

" the substance of doctrine " concerning the pick- 
aninny. 

, When Charles Lamb slipped on the London 
pavement, he found delight in watching the 
chimney sweep who stood laughing at his mis- 
fortune. " There he stood irremovable, as though 
the jest were to last forever, with such a max- 
imum of glee and minimum of mischief in his 
mirth — for the grin of a genuine sweep hath no 
malice in it — that I could have been content, if 
the honor of a gentleman might endure it, to 
have remained his butt and his mockery till 
midnight." There were many middle-aged Lon- 
don citizens who could no more appreciate that 
kind of pleasure than a Hottentot could appre- 
ciate an oratorio. That is only saying that the 
average citizen and the average Hottentot have, 
as Wordsworth mildly puts it, " faculties which 
they have never used." 

The high place that humor holds among our 
mental processes is evident when we consider 
that it is almost the only one that requires that 
we shall be thoroughly awake. In our dreams 
we have many aesthetic enjoyments, as vague 



., 



74 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

splendors pass before us. At other times there 
is an abnormal sensitiveness to the sovereignty, 
not to say the despotism of ethies. "We feel 
burdened with the weight of unpardonable sins. 
We are able also in our sleep to philosophize 
after a fashion which is, for the time, quite sat- 
isfactory. At such times we are sure that we 
have made important discoveries ; if we could 
only remember what they were. A thousand 
incongruities pass through our minds, but there 
is one thing which we cannot do. We cannot 
recognize that they are incongruous. Such a 
discovery would immediately awaken us. 
Tennyson tells how 

"half awake I heard 
The parson taking wide and wider sweeps, 
Now harping on the church commissioners, 
Now hawking at Geology and schism." 

It would be possible for the parson and his con- 
gregation to keep on with that sort of thing 
Sunday after Sunday. They would discover no- 
thing absurd in the performance, so long as they 
were in their usual semi-somnolent condition. 
/ Humor implies mental alertness and power of 
discrimination. It also implies a hospitality 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 75 

toward all the differences that are recognized. 
Psychologists speak of the Association of Ideas. 
It is a pleasant thought, but it is, in reality, diffi- 
cult to induce Ideas to associate in a neighborly 
way. In many minds the different groups are 
divided by conventional lines, and there are 
aristocratic prejudices separating the classes 
from the masses. The Working Hypothesis, 
honest son of toil that he is, does not expect so 
much as a nod of recognition from the High 
Moral Principle who walks by in his Sunday 
clothes. The steady Habit does not associate 
with the high-bred Sentiment. They do not 
belong to the same set. Only in the mind of 
the humorist is there a true democracy. Here 
everybody knows everybody. Even the priggish 
Higher Thought is not allowed to enjoy a sense 
of superiority. Plain Common Sense slaps him 
on the back, calls him by his first name, and bids 
him not make a fool of himself. 

Of the two ingredients which Thackeray men- 
tions, the first, love, is that which gives body; 
the addition of wit gives the effervescence. The 
pleasure of wit lies in its unexpectedness. In 



76 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

humor there is the added pleasure of really liking 
\ that which surprises us. It is like meeting an 
old friend in an unexpected place. " What, you 
here ? " we say. This is the kind of pleasure we 
get from Dr. Johnson's reply to the lady who 
asked why he had put a certain definition in his 
dictionary : " Pure ignorance, madam." 

The fact is that long ago we made the ac- 
quaintance of one whom Bunyan describes as 
" a brisk young lad named Ignorance." He is 
a dear friend of ours, and we are on very fami- 
liar terms with him when we are at home ; but 
we do not expect to meet him in fine society. 
Suddenly we turn the corner, and we see him 
walking arm in arm with so great a man as Dr. 
Samuel Johnson. At once we are at our ease in 
the presence of the great man ; it seems we have 
a mutual acquaintance. 

Another element in real humor is a certain 
N detachment of mind. We must not be afraid, 
or jealous, or angry; in order to take a really 
humorous view of any character, we must be in 
a position to see all around it. If I were brought 
before Fielding's Squire Western on charge of 
poaching, and if I had a pheasant concealed 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 77 

under my coat, I should not be able to appre- 
ciate what an amusing person the squire is. I 
should be inclined to take him very seriously. 

The small boy who pins a paper to the school- 
master's coat tail imagines that he has achieved 
a masterpiece of humor. But he is not really in 
a position to reap the fruits of his perilous ad- 
venture. It is a fearful and precarious joy which 
he feels. What if the schoolmaster should turn 
around? That would be tragedy. Neither the 
small boy nor the schoolmaster gets the full 
flavor of humor. But suppose an old friend of 
the schoolmaster happens just then to look in at 
the door. His delight in the situation has a mel- 
lowness far removed from the anxious, ambigu- 
ous glee of the urchin. He knows that the small 
boy is not so wicked as he thinks he is, and the 
schoolmaster is not so terrible as he seems. He 
remembers the time when the schoolmaster was 
up to the same pranks. So, from the assured 
position of middle age, he looks upon the small 
boy that was and upon the small boy that is, and 
finds them both very good, — much better, in- 
deed, than at this moment they find each other. 

It is this sense of the presence of a tolerant 



78 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

spectator, looking upon the incidents of the 
passing hour, which we recognize in the best 
literature. Books that are meant simply to be 
funny are very short-lived. The first reception 
of a joke awakens false expectations. It is re- 
ceived with extravagant heartiness. But when, 
encouraged by this hospitality, it returns again 
and again, its welcome is worn out. There is 
something melancholy in a joke deserted in its 
old age. 

The test of real literature is that it will bear 
repetition. We read over the same pages again 
and again, and always with fresh delight. This 
bars out all mere jocosity. A certain kind of 
wit, which depends for its force on mere verbal 
brilliancy, has the same effect. The writers 
whom we love are those whose humor does not 
glare or glitter, but which has an iridescent 
quality. It is the perpetual play of light and 
color which enchants us. We are conscious all 
the time that the light is playing on a real thing. 
It is something more than a clever trick ; there 
is an illumination. 

Erasmus, in dedicating his " Praise of Folly " 
to Sir Thomas More, says : — 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 79 

" I conceived that this would not be least 
approved by you, inasmuch as you are wont to 
be delighted with such kind of pleasantry as is 
neither unlearned nor altogether insipid. Such 
is your sweetness of temper that you can and 
like to carry yourself to all men a man of all 
hours. Unless an overweening opinion of my- 
self may have made me blind, I have praised 
folly not altogether foolishly. I have moderated 
my style, that the understanding reader may per- 
ceive that my endeavor is to make mirth rather 
than to bite." 

Erasmus has here described a kind of humor 
that is consistent with seriousness of purpose. 
The characteristics he notes are good temper^ 
insight into human nature, a certain reserve, and 
withal a gentle irony that makes the praise of 
folly not unpleasing to the wise. It is a way of 
looking at things characteristic of men like 
Chaucer and Cervantes and Montaigne and 
Shakespeare, and Bunyan and Fielding and Ad- 
dison, Goldsmith, Charles Lamb and Walter 
Scott. In America, we have seen it in Irving 
and Dr. Holmes and James Russell Lowell. 

I have left out of the list one whom nature 



80 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

endowed for the supreme man of humor among 
Englishmen, — Jonathan Swift. Charles Lamb 
argues against the common notion that it is a 
misfortune to a man to have a surly disposition. 
He says it is not his misfortune ; it is the misfor- 
tune of his neighbors. It is our misfortune that 
the man who might have been the English Cer- 
vantes had a surly disposition. Dean Swift's 
humor would have been irresistible, if it had only 
been good humor. 

One of the best examples of humor pervading 
a work of the utmost seriousness of purpose is 
Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress." The " Pilgrim's 
Progress " is not a funny book ; the humor is not 
tacked on as a moral is tacked on to a fable, nor 
does it appear by way of an interlude to relieve 
the tension of the mind. It is so deeply inter- 
fused, so a part and parcel of the religious teach- 
ing, that many readers overlook it altogether. 
One may read the book a dozen times without a 
smile, and after that he may recognize the touch 
of the born humorist on every page. Bunyan 
himself recognized the quality of his work : — 

" Some there be that say he laughs too loud, 
And some do say his head is in a cloud. 



THE MISSION OF HUMOE 81 

One may, I think, say both his laughs and cries 

May well be guessed at by his wat'ry eyes. 

Some things are of that nature as to make 

One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache." \ 

There speaks the real humorist ; not the Merry 
Andrew laughing at his meaningless pranks, but 
one whose quick imagination is at play when his 
conscience is most overtasked. Even in the 
Valley of Humiliation, where the fierce Apollyon 
was wont to fright the pilgrims, they heard a boy 
singing cheerily, — 

" He that is down need fear no fall." 

And Mr. Great Heart said : " Do you hear him ? 
I dare say that boy lives a merrier life, and 
wears more of the herb called heart's-ease in his 
bosom, than he that is clad in silk and velvet." 
It is a fine spirit that can find time, on such a 
strenuous pilgrimage, to listen to these wayside 
songs. 

Take the character sketch of Mr. Fearing : — 

" Now as they walked together, the guide 

asked the old gentleman if he did not know one 

Mr. Fearing that came on a pilgrimage out of 

his parts ? 



82 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

" Honest. Yes, very well, said lie. He was 
a man that had the root of the matter in him, 
but he was one of the most troublesome pilgrims 
that ever I met in all my days. 

" Great Heart. Why, he was always afraid 
he should come short of whither he had a desire 
to go. Everything frightened him that he heard 
anybody speak of that had but the least appear- 
ance of opposition in it. I hear that he lay roar- 
ing in the Slough of Despond for about a month 
together. . . . "Well, after he had lain in the 
Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told 
you, one sunshine morning, I do not know how, 
he ventured and so got over ; but when he was 
over he would scarce believe it. He had, I be- 
lieve, a Slough of Despond in his mind, a slough 
he carried everywhere with him. . . . When he 
came to the Hill Difficulty he made no stick at 
that ; nor did he much fear the lions ; for you 
must know his trouble was not about such things 
as those. . . . When he was come at Vanity 
Fair, I thought he would have fought with all 
the men at the fair. . . . He was a man of 
choice spirit though he kept himself very low." 

Poor Mr. Fearing 1 . We all have been made 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 83 

uncomfortable by him. But we love Bunyan 
for that touch about the lions, for we know it 
is true. Easy things go hard with Mr. Fearing ; 
but give him something difficult, like going up 
San Juan hill in the face of a withering fire, and 
Mr. Fearing can keep up with the best Rough 
Rider of them all. It takes Mr. Great Heart to 
do justice to Mr. Fearing. 

It is the mission of a kindly humor to take a 
person full of foibles and weaknesses and sud- 
denly to reveal his unsuspected nobleness. And 
there is considerable room for this kind of treat- 
ment ; for there are a great many lovable peo- 
ple whose virtues are not chronic, but sporadic. 
These virtues grow up, one knows not how, 
without visible means of support in the general 
character, and in defiance of moral science ; and 
yet it is a real pleasure to see them. 

There are two very different kinds of humor. 
One we naturally describe as a flavor, the other 
as an atmosphere. We speak of the flavor of 
the essays of Charles Lamb. It is a discovery 
we make very much as Bobo made the discovery 
of roast pig. The mind of Charles Lamb was 
like a capacious kettle hanging from the crane in 



84 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

the fireplace ; all sorts of savory ingredients were 
thrown into it, and the whole was kept gently 
simmering, but never allowed to come to the 
boil. 

Lamb says, " C. declares that a man cannot 
have a good conscience who refuses apple dump- 
ling, and I confess that I am of the same 
opinion." I am inclined to pass that kind of 
judgment on the person who does not have a 
comfortable feeling of satisfaction in reading for 
the twentieth time The Complaint on the Decay 
of Beggars, and the Praise of Chimney Sweepers. 

Charles Lamb is not jocose. He likes to 
theorize. Now, your prosaic theorist has a very 
laborious task. He tries to get all the facts 
under one formula. This is very ticklish busi- 
ness. It is like the game of Pigs in Clover. He 
gets all the facts but one into the inner circle. 
By a dexterous thrust he gets that one in, and 
the rest are out. 

Lamb is a philosopher who does not have this 
trouble. He does not try to fit all the facts to 
one theory. That seems to him too economical, 
when theories are so cheap. With large-hearted 
generosity he provides a theory for every fact. 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 85 

He clothes the ragged exception with all the 
decent habiliments of a universal law. He 
picks up a little ragamuffin of a fact, and 
warms its heart and points out its great rela- 
tions. He is not afraid of generalizing from 
insufficient data; he has the art of making a 
delightful summer out of a single swallow. 
When we turn to the essay on the Melancholy 
of Tailors, we do not think of asking for statis- 
tics. If one tailor was melancholy, that was 
enough to justify the generalization. When 
we find a tailor who is not melancholy, it will 
be time to make another theory to fit his case. 

This is the charm of Lamb's letter to the gen- 
tleman who inquired " whether a person at the 
age of sixty-three, with no more proficiency than 
a tolerable knowledge of most of the characters 
of the English alphabet amounts to, by dint of 
persevering application and good masters, may 
hope to arrive within a presumable number of 
years at that degree of attainment that would 
entitle the possessor to the character of a learned 
man" The answer is candid, serious, and ex- 
haustive. No false hopes are encouraged. The 
difficulties are plainly set forth. " However," it 



86 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

is said, " where all cannot be compassed, much 
may be accomplished; but I must not, in fair- 
ness, conceal from you that you have much to 
do." The question is thoroughly discussed as 
to whether it would be well for him to enter a 
primary school. " You say that you stand in 
need of emulation ; that this incitement is no- 
where to be had but in the public school. But 
have you considered the nature of the emulation 
belonging to those of tender years which you 
would come in competition with ? " 

Do you think these dissertations a waste of 
time? If you do, it is sufficient evidence that 
you sadly need them ; for they are the antitoxin 
to counteract the bacillus of pedantry. Were I 
appointed by the school board to consider the 
applicants for teachers' certificates, after they 
had passed the examination in the arts and 
sciences, I should subject them to a more rigid 
test. I should hand each candidate Lamb's 
essays on The Old and New Schoolmaster and 
on Imperfect Sympathies. I should make him 
read them to himself, while I sat by and 
watched. If his countenance never relaxed, as 
if he were inwardly saying, " That 's so," I should 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 87 

withhold the certificate. I should not consider 
him a fit person to have charge of innocent youth. 
Just as we naturally speak of the flavor of 
Charles Lamb, so we speak of the atmosphere 
of Cervantes or of Fielding. We are out of 
doors in the sunshine. All sorts of people are 
doing all sorts of things in all sorts of ways ; 
and we are glad that we are there to see them. 
It is one of the 

" charmed days 
When the Genius of God doth flow ; 
The wind may alter twenty ways 
But a tempest cannot blow." 

On such days it does n't matter what happens. 
We are not "under the weather," but con- 
sciously superior to it. We are in no mood to 
grumble over mishaps, — the more the merrier. 
The master of the revels has made the brave an- 
nouncement that his programme shall be carried 
out " rain or shine," and henceforth we have no 
anxieties. 

This diffused good-humor can only come from 
a mind which is free from any taint of morbid- 
ness. It is that merry-heartedness that " doth 
good like medicine." It is an overflowing friend- 



88 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

liness, which brings a laughter that is without 
scorn. 

This kind of humor is possible only among 
persons who are thoroughly congenial, and who 
take mutual good-will for granted. It is for this 
reason that it is so difficult to translate it or to 
carry it from one community to another. It is 
customary for every nation to bring the accusa- 
tion against foreigners that they are destitute of 
the sense of humor. Even peoples so near akin 
as the English and Americans cherish such sus- 
picions. The American is likely to feel that his 
English friends do not receive his pleasantries 
with that punctuality which is the politeness of 
kings. They are conscientious enough and event- 
ually do the right thing ; but procrastination is 
the thief of wit as well as of time. But we, on 
our side, are equally slow, and Mr. Punch often 
causes anxious thoughts. 

The real difficulty is not in understanding 
what is said but in appreciating that which 
should be taken for granted. The stranger does 
not see the serious background of sober thought 
and genuine admiration, into which the amus- 
ing figures suddenly intrude. The frontiersman 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 89 

would see no point in a story that might delight 
a common room in Oxford. What if a bishop 
did act in an undignified manner or commit a 
blunder ? Why should n't he — like the rest of 
us? To enjoy his foibles one must first have a 
realizing sense of what a great man a bishop is, 
and how surprising it is that, now and then, he 
should step down from his pedestal. 

On the other hand, the real humor of the 
frontier is missed by one who has not learned to 
take seriously the frontiersman's life and who 
has not entered into his habitual point of view. 

Dickens is an example of the way in which a 
man's humor is limited to the sphere of his sym- 
pathies. How genial is the atmosphere which 
surrounds Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Sam Weller ! 
Whatever they do, they can never go wrong. 
But when we turn to the "American Notes " or to 
the American part of " Martin Chuzzlewit," we 
are conscious of a difference. There is no atmos- 
phere to relieve the dreariness. Mr. Jefferson 
Brick is not amusing ; he is odious. The people 
on the Ohio River steamer do not make us smile 
by their absurdities. Dickens lets us see how he 
despises them all. He is fretful and peevish. 



90 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

He fails utterly to catch the humor of the 
frontier. He is unable to follow out the hint 
which Mark Tapley gave when, looking over the 
dreary waste of Eden on the Mississippi, he said 
apologetically, " Eden ain't all built yet." 

To an Englishman that does not mean much, 
but to an American it is wonderfully appealing. 
Martin Chuzzlewit saw only the ignominious 
contrast between the prospectus and the present 
reality. Eden was a vulgar fraud, and that was 
the whole of it. The American, with invincible 
optimism, looking upon the same scene, sees 
something more ! He smiles, perhaps, a little 
cynically at the incongruity between the pro- 
spectus and the present development, and then 
his fancy chuckles at what his fancy sees in the 
future. " Eden ain't all built yet," ■ — that 's a 
fact. But just think what Eden will be when it 
is all built ! 

By the way, there is one particularly good 
thing about the atmosphere ; it prevents our 
being hit by meteors. The meteor, when it 
strikes the upper air, usually ignites, and that 
is the end of it. There are some minds that 



THE MISSION OF HUMOK 91 

have not enough atmosphere to protect them. 
They are pelted continually ; whatever is un- 
pleasant comes to them in solid chunks. There 
are others more fortunately surrounded, who 
escape this impact. All that is seen is a flash 
in the upper air. They are none the worse for 
passing through a meteoric shower of petty mis- 
fortunes. 

The mind that is surrounded by an atmos- 
phere of humorous suggestiveness is also favored 
in its outlook upon the shortcomings of mankind. 
Their angularities are softened and become less 
uniformly un pleasing. That fine old English 
divine, Dr. South, has a sermon in which he 
defends the thesis that it is a greater guilt to 
enjoy the contemplation of our neighbor's sins 
than to commit the same offences in our proper 
persons. That seems to me to be very hard 
doctrine. I am inclined to make a distinction. 
There are some faults which ought to be taken 
seriously at all times, but there are others which 
the neighbors should be allowed to enjoy, if they 
can. 

Indeed, it is the genuine reformer who is seek- 
ing to right great wrongs who most needs the 



92 THE. MISSION OF HUMOR 

capacity to distinguish between grave evils and 
peccadillos. A measure of good-humored tol- 
erance for human weakness is a part of his 
equipment for effective work. Lacking in this, 
he is doomed to perpetual irritation and dis- 
appointment. He mistakes friends for foes and 
wages a losing battle. He is likely to be the vic- 
tim of a moral egoism which distorts the facts of 
experience and confuses his personal whims with 
his disinterested purposes. His great ideal is 
lost sight of in some petty strife. Above all, he 
loses the power of endurance in the time of par- 
tial failure. 

The contest of wits between the inventors of 
projectiles and the makers of armor plate seemed 
at one time settled by Harvey's process for ren- 
dering the surface of the resisting steel so hard 
that the missiles hurled against it were shattered. 
The answer of the gun-makers was made by at- 
taching a tip of softer metal to the shell. The 
soft tip received the first shock of the impact, 
and it was found that the penetrating power of 
the shell was increased enormously. The scien- 
tific explanation I have forgotten. I may, how- 
ever, hazard an anthropomorphic explanation. 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 93 

If there is any human nature in the atoms of 
steel, I can see a great advantage in having the 
softer particles go before the hard, to have a 
momentary yielding before the inevitable crash. 
When they are hurtling through the air, tense 
and strained by the initial velocity till it seems 
that they must fly apart, it is a great thing to 
have a group of good-humored, happy-go-lucky 
atoms in the front, who call out cheerily : " Come 
along, boys ! Don't take it too hard ; we 're in 
for it." And sure enough, before they have 
time to fall apart they are in. Those whose 
thoughts and purposes have most penetrated the 
hard prejudices of their time have learned this 
lesson. 

Your unhumorous reformer, with painful in- 
tensity of moral self-consciousness, cries out : — 

" The time is out of joint : cursed spite, 
That ever I was bom to set it right ! " 

He takes himself and his cause always with equal 
seriousness. He hurls himself against the ac- 
cumulated wrongs and the invincible ignorance 
of the world, and there is a great crash ; but 
somehow, the world seems to survive the shock 
better than he does. It is a tough old world, 



94 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

and bears a great deal of pounding. Indeed, it 
has been pounded so much and so long that it 
has become quite solid. 

Now and then, however, there comes along a 
reformer whose zeal is tipped with humor. His 
thought penetrates where another man's is only- 
shattered. That is what made Luther so effec- 
tive. He struck heavy blows at the idols men 
adored. But he was such a genial, whole-souled 
iconoclast that those who were most shocked at 
him could not help liking him — between times. 
He would give a smashing blow at the idol, and 
then a warm hand grasp and a hearty " God 
bless you " to the idolater ; and then idolater 
and iconoclast would be down on the floor to- 
gether, trying to see if there were any pieces of 
the idol worth saving. It was all so unexpected 
and so incongruous and so shocking, and yet so 
unaffectedly religious and so surprisingly the 
right thing to do, that the upshot of it all was 
that people went away saying, " Dr. Martin is n't 
such a bad fellow, after all." 

Luther's "Table Talk" penetrated circles which 
were well protected against his theological trea- 
tises. Men were conscious of a good humor even 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 95 

in his invective ; for he usually gave them time 
to see the kindly twinkle in his eye before he 
knocked them down. 

In order to engage Karlstadt in a controversy, 
Luther drew out a florin from his pocket and 
cried heartily, " Take it ! Attack me boldly ! " 
Karlstadt took it, put it in his purse, and gave 
it to Luther. Luther then drank to his health. 
Then Karlstadt pledged Luther. Then Luther 
said, " The more violent your attacks, the more 
I shall be delighted." Then they gave each 
other their hands and parted. One can almost 
be reconciled to theological controversy, when it 
is conducted in a manner so truly sportsmanlike. 

Luther had a way of characterizing a person 
in a sentence, that was much more effective than 
his labored vituperation (in which, it must be 
confessed, he was a master). Thus, speaking of 
the attitude of Erasmus, he said, " Erasmus 
stands looking at creation like a calf at a new 
door." It was very unjust to Erasmus, and yet 
the picture sticks in the mind ; for it is such a 
perfect characterization of the kind of mind that 
we are all acquainted with, which looks at the 
marvels of creation with the wide-eyed gaze of 



96 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

bovine youthfulness, curious, not to know how 
that door came there, but only to know whether 
it leads to something to eat. 

The humor of Luther suggests that of Abra- 
ham Lincoln. Both were men of the people, and 
their humor had a flavor of the soil. They were 
alike capable of deep dejection, but each found 
relief in spontaneous laughter. The surprise of 
the grave statesman when Lincoln would preface 
a discussion with a homely anecdote of the fron- 
tier was of the same kind felt by the sixteenth- 
century theologians when Luther turned aside 
from his great arguments, which startled Europe, 
to tell a merry tale in ridicule of the pretensions 
of the monks. 

If I were to speak of the humorist as a philo- 
sopher, some of the gravest of the philosophers 
would at once protest. Humor, they say, has no 
place in their philosophy ; and they are quite 
right. Indeed, it is doubtful if a humorist would 
ever make a good, systematic philosopher. He 
is a modest person. He is only a gleaner fol- 
lowing the reapers ; but he manages to pick up 
a great many grains of wisdom which they over- 
look. 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 97 

Dante pictures the sages o£ antiquity as for- 
ever walking on a verdant mead, " with eyes 
slow and grave, and with great authority in their 
looks ; " as if, in the other world, they were con- 
tinually oppressed by the wisdom they had ac- 
quired in this. But I can imagine a gatheriDg 
of philosophers in a different fashion. Gravely 
they have come, each bearing his ponderous vol- 
ume, in which he has explained the universe and 
settled the destiny of mankind. Then, suddenly, 
in contrast with their theories, the reality is dis- 
closed. The incorrigible pedants and dogmatists 
turn away in sullen disappointment ; but from 
all true lovers of wisdom there arises a peal of 
mellow laughter, as each one realizes the enor- 
mous incongruity between what he knew and 
what he thought he knew. 

The discovery that things are not always as 
they seem is one that some people make in this 
world. They get a glimpse of something that is 
going on behind the scenes, and their smile is 
very disconcerting to the sober spectators around 
them. 

Sometimes it is the bitter smile of disillusion. 
Matthew Arnold wrote of Heine : — 



98 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

" The Spirit of the world, 
Beholding the absurdity of men, — 
Their vaunts, their feats, — let a sardonic smile, 
For one short moment, wander o'er his lips. 
That smile was Heine." 

But there is another kind of smile evoked by 
the incongruity between the appearance and the 
reality. It is the smile that comes when behind 
some mask that had affrighted us we recognize 
a familiar and friendly face. There is a smile 
which is not one of disillusion. There is a philo- 
sophy which is dissolved in humor. The wise man 
sees the incongruities involved in the very nature 
of things. They are the result of the free play of 
various forces. To his quick insight the actual 
world is no more like the formal descriptions of 
it than the successive attitudes of a galloping 
horse are like the pose of an equestrian statue. 
His mind catches instantaneous views of this world 
as its elements are continually dissolving and re- 
combining. It is all very surprising, and he 
smiles as he sees how much better they turn out 
than might be expected. 

" Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say 
Endless dirges to decay. 



THE MISSION OF HUMOR 99 

And yet it seemeth not to me 
That the high gods love tragedy ; 
For Saadi sat in the sun. 



Sunshine in his heart transferred, 
Lighted each transparent word. 

And thus to Saadi said the Muse : 
' Eat thou the bread which men refuse ; 
Flee from the goods which from thee flee ; 
Seek nothing, — Fortune seeketh thee. 

On thine orchard's edge belong 
All the brags of plume and song. 

Nor scour the seas, nor sift mankind, 
A poet or a friend to find : 
Behold, he watches at the door ! 
Behold his shadow on the floor ! ' " 

In the book of Proverbs, Wisdom says, " I, 
Wisdom, dwell with Prudence." But there is 
another member of the household. It is Humor, 
sister of serene Wisdom and of the heavenly 
Prudence. She does not often laugh, and when 
she does it is mostly at her sister Wisdom, who 
cannot long resist the infection. There is not 
one set smile upon her face, as if she contemplated 
an altogether amusing world. The smiles that 

!L.ofC. 



100 THE MISSION OF HUMOR 

come and go are shy, elusive things, but they can- 
not remain long in hiding. 

Wisdom, from her high house, takes wide 
views, and Prudence peers anxiously into the 
future; but gentle Humor loves to take short 
views ; she delights in homely things, and con- 
tinually finds surprises in that which is most 
familiar. Wisdom goes on laborious journeys, 
and comes home bringing her treasures from afar ; 
and Humor matches them, every one, with what 
she has found in the dooryard. 






9j^HAT was a curious state of things in Salem 
"' village. There was the Meeting-House in 
plain sight, with sermons every Sunday and lec- 
tures on week-days. There were gospel privi- 
leges for all, and the path of duty was evident 
enough for the simplest understanding. Never- 
theless, certain persons who should have listened 
to the sermons, when they heard the sound of a 
trumpet hied to the rendezvous of witches. When 
haled before the court their only answer was that 
they could n't help it. 

The ministers were disturbed, but being 
thorough-going men, they did not rest content 
with academic discussion of the question of the 
falling-off in church attendance. They inquired 



102 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

into its cause, and became convinced that they 
were dealing with sorcery. All this is duly set 
down in Increase Mather's treatise on " Cases of 
Conscience concerning Witchcrafts." 

This method of inquisition is commended to 
those writers who look upon the Gentle Reader's 
love of Romance as a deadly sin. The trouble, 
as I understand it, is this. A number of gentle- 
men devoted to literature have cultivated style 
till it is as near a state of utter perfection as 
human nature will tolerate. Indeed, they emu- 
late that classic writer of whom Roger Ascham 
remarked that he labored " with uncontented 
care to write better than he could." They have 
attained such accuracy of observation and such 
skill in the choice of words that the man in the 
book is as like to the man on the street as two peas. 
They are also skilled in criticism and are able to 
prove that it is our duty not only to admire but 
also to read their books. The complaint is that 
the readers, instead of walking in the path of 
duty, troop off after some mere story-teller who 
has never passed an examination in Pathology, 
and who is utterly incapable of making an ex- 
haustive analysis of motives. 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 103 

The Gentle Reader when he hears the accusa- 
tions of the stern realists makes no denial of the 
facts. He admits that he likes a good story- 
better than an involved study of character. He 
listens to the reproofs with the helplessness of 
one who has only the frail barrier of a personal 
taste to shield him from the direct blow of the 
categorical imperative. If personal taste were 
to be accepted as a sufficient plea, he is aware 
that the most besotted inebriate would go un- 
whipped of justice. In this predicament he 
shields himself behind his favorite authors. If 
there be a fault it is theirs, not his. They have 
bewitched him by their spells. It is impossible 
for him to withstand the potent enchantments of 
these wizards. 

I am inclined to think that there is much 
justice in this view of the matter and that the 
militant realists should turn their attention from 
the innocent reader to those who have power to 
bewitch him. 

The accepted signs of witchcraft, as enumer- 
ated by the Mathers, are present. Thus we 
are told : "A famous Divine recites among 
other Convictions of a Witch, the Testimony of 



104 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

the Party bewitched, together with the joint 
Oaths of sufficient Persons that they have seen 
Prodigious Pranks or Feats wrought by the 
Party accused." 

This was the kind of evidence relied upon in 
the case of G. B. in the Court of Oyer and Ter- 
miner held at Salem in 1692. " He was accused by 
Nine Persons for extraordinary Lifting and such 
Feats of Strength as could not be done without 
Diabolical Assistance." It was said that "though 
he was a Puny Man yet he had done things be- 
yond the strength of a Giant. A Gun of about 
seven foot Barrel, and so heavy that strong Men 
could not steadily hold it out with both hands ; 
there were several Testimonies that he made no- 
thing of taking up such a Gun behind the Lock, 
with one hand, and holding it out like a Pistol 
at arm's end." Any readers of romance can tell 
of many such prodigious pranks which, while the 
spell was upon them, seemed altogether credible. 

The test which was looked upon as infallible 
by those judicious judges who put little con- 
fidence in the flotation of witches on the mill 
pond, was that of the lack of intellectual con- 
sistency. " Faltering, faulty, inconstant, and 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 105 

contrary answers upon judicial and deliberate 
Examination are accounted unlucky symptoms 
of guilt." 

Such inconsistencies may be found in all ro- 
mantic fiction ; yet the magicians seem to have 
the power to make all things appear probable. I 
might tell what a pleasant thrill is sometimes 
produced by these sorceries, but I had better fol- 
low the policy of Cotton Mather, who declined to 
tell all he knew about the Invisible World, lest 
he might make witchcraft too attractive. " I 
will not speak plainly lest I should, unaware, 
poison some of my Readers, as the pious Her- 
mingius did one of his Pupils when he only by 
way of Diversion recited a Spell." 

Cotton Mather makes a suggestion which is of 
value in regard to the different grades of witches 
and other wonder-working spirits. His remarks 
upon this head are so judicious that they should 
be quoted in full. 

" Thirdly, 't is to be supposed, that some 
Devils are more peculiarly Commission 'd, and 
perhaps Qualify'd, for some Countries, while 
others are for others. This is intimated when 
in Mar. 5. 10. The Devils besought our Lord 



106 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

much, that he would not send them away out of 
the Countrey. Why was that ? But in all prob- 
ability, because these Devils were more able to 
do the works of the Devil, in such a Countrey, 
than in another. It is not likely that every 
Devil does know every Language; or that every 
Devil can do every Mischief 'T is possible, 
that the Experience, or, if I may call it so, the 
Education of all Devils is not alike, and that 
there may be some difference in their Abilities, 
If one might make an Inference from what 
the Devils do, to what they are, One cannot for- 
bear dreaming, that there are degrees of Devils. 
Who can allow, that such Trifling Demons, as 
that of Mascon, or those that once infested our 
New-berry, are of so much Grandeur, as those 
Demons, whose Games are mighty Kingdoms ? 
Yea, 't is certain, that all Devils do not make a 
like figure in the Invisible World. Nor does it 
look agreeably, That the Demons, which were 
Familiars of such a Man as the old Apollonius, 
differ not from those baser Goblins that chuse 
to Nest in the filthy and loathsome Rags of a 
beastly Sorceress. Accordingly, why may not 
some Devils be more accomplished for what is 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 107 

to be done in such and such places, when others 
must be detach" 1 d for other Territories ? Each 
Devil, as he sees his advantage, cries out, Let me 
be in this Countrey, rather than another." 

It is only on the theory of bewitchment by a 
trifling demon who belongs to the lower orders of 
the literary world that I can account for the sad 
fall of the reader whose confession follows. Care- 
fully shielded in his youth from all the entice- 
ments of the imagination, he yet fell from grace. 
The unfortunate person seems to be lacking in 
strength of will, and yet to have some good in 
him. In my opinion he was more sinned against 
than sinning. But I will let him tell his story 
in his own way. 

A CONFESSION 

One half the world does not know what the 
other half reads ; but good people are now 
taught that the first requisite of sociological 
virtue is to interest themselves in the other half. 
I therefore venture to call attention to a book 
that has pleased me, though my delight in it may 
at once class me with the " submerged tenth " of 
the reading public. It is "The Pirate's Own 
Book." 



108 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

By way of preface to a discussion of this 
volume, let me make a personal explanation of 
the causes which led me to its perusal. My read- 
ing of such a book cannot be traced to early 
habit. In my boyhood I had no opportunity 
to study the careers of pirates, for I was confined 
to another variety of literature. On Sunday 
afternoons I read aloud a book called " The Af- 
flicted Man's Companion." The unfortunate gen- 
tleman portrayed in this work had a large assort- 
ment of afflictions, — if I remember rightly, one 
for each day of the month, — but among them 
was nothing so exciting as being marooned in 
the South Seas. Indeed, his afflictions were of 
a generalized and abstract kind, which he could 
have borne with great cheerfulness had it not 
been for the consolations which were remorse- 
lessly administered to him. 

If I have become addicted to tales of piracy, I 
must attribute it to the literary criticisms of too 
strenuous realists. Before I read them, I took 
an innocent pleasure in romantic fiction. With- 
out any compunction of conscience I rejoiced in 
Walter Scott ; and when he failed I was pleased 
even with his imitators. My heart leaped up 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 109 

when I beheld a solitary horseman on the first 
page, and I did not forsake the horseman, even 
though I knew he was to be personally conducted 
through his journey by Mr. G. P. R. James. 
Fenimore Cooper, in those days, before I was 
awakened to the nature of literary sin, I found 
altogether pleasant. The cares of the world faded 
away, and a soothing conviction of the essential 
rightness of things came over me, as the pioneers 
and Indians discussed in deliberate fashion the 
deepest questions of the universe, between shots. 
As for stories of the sea, I never thought of being 
critical. I was ready to take thankfully any- 
thing with a salty flavor, from " Sindbad the 
Sailor " to Mr. Clark Russell. I had no incon- 
venient knowledge to interfere with my enjoy- 
ment. All nautical language was alike impres- 
sive, and all nautical manoeuvres were to me 
alike perilous. It would have been a poor An- 
cient Mariner who could not have enthralled me, 
when 

" He held me "with his skinny hand ; 
' There -was a ship,' quoth he." 

And if the ship had raking masts and no satis- 
factory clearance papers, that was enough ; as to 



110 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

what should happen, I left that altogether to the 
author. That the laws of probability held on 
the Spanish Main as on dry land, I never 
dreamed. 

But after being awakened to the sin of ro- 
mance, I saw that to read a«. novel merely for 
recreation is not permissible. The reader must 
be put upon oath, and before he allows himself 
to enjoy any incident must swear that everything 
is exactly true to life as he has seen it. All 
vagabonds and sturdy vagrants who have no 
visible means of support, in the present order of 
things, are to be driven out of the realm of well- 
regulated fiction. Among these are included all 
knights in armor ; all rightful heirs with a straw- 
berry mark ; all horsemen, solitary or otherwise ; 
all princes in disguise ; all persons who are in 
the habit of saying " prithee," or " Odzooks," or 
" by my halidome ; " all fair ladies who have no 
irregularities of feature and no realistic inco- 
herencies of speech ; all lovers who fall in love 
at first sight, and who are married at the end of 
the book and live happily ever after ; all witches, 
fortune-tellers, and gypsies ; all spotless heroes 
and deep-dyed villains ; all pirates, buccaneers, 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 111 

North American Indians with a taste for meta- 
physics ; all scouts, hunters, trappers, and other 
individuals who do not wear store clothes. Ac- 
cording to this decree, all readers are forbidden 
to aid and abet these persons, or to give them 
shelter in their imagination. A reader who 
should incite a writer of fiction to romance 
would be held as an accessory before the fact. 

After duly repenting of my sins and renouncing 
my old acquaintances, I felt a preeminent virtue. 
Had I met the Three Guardsmen, one at a time 
or all together, I should have passed them by 
without stopping for a moment's converse. I 
should have recognized them for the impudent 
Gascons that they were, and should have known 
that there was not a word of truth in all their 
adventures. As for Stevenson's fine old pirate, 
with his contemptible song about a " dead men's 
chest and a bottle of rum," I should not have 
tolerated him for an instant. Instead, I should 
have turned eagerly to some neutral-tinted person 
who never had any adventure greater than missing 
the train to Dedham, and I should have analyzed 
his character, and agitated myself in the attempt 
to get at his feelings, and I should have verified 



112 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCEAFTS 

his story by a careful reference to the railway 
guide. I should have treated that neutral-tinted 
character as a problem, and I should have noted 
all the delicate shades in the futility of his con- 
duct. When, on any occasion that called for 
action, he did not know his own mind, I should 
have admired him for his resemblance to so many 
of my acquaintances who do not know their own 
minds. After studying the problem until I came 
to the last chapter, I should suddenly have given 
it up, and agreed with the writer that it had no 
solution. In my self-righteousness, I despised 
the old-fashioned reader who had been lured on 
in the expectation that at the last moment some- 
thing thrilling might happen. 

But temptations come at the unguarded point. 
I had hardened myself against romance in fiction, 
but I had not been sufficiently warned against 
romance in the guise of fact. When in a book- 
stall I came upon " The Pirate's Own Book," it 
seemed to answer a felt want. Here at least, 
outside the boundaries of strict fiction, I could be 
sure of finding adventure, and feel again with 
Sancho Panza " how pleasant it is to go about in 
expectation of accidents." 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 113 

I am well aware that good literature — to use 
Matthew Arnold's phrase — is a criticism of life. 
But the criticism of life, with its discriminations 
between things which look very much alike, is 
pretty serious business. We cannot keep on 
criticising life without getting tired after a while, 
"and longing for something a little simpler. There 
is a much-admired passage in Ferishtah's Fancies, 
in which, after mixing up the beans in his hands 
and speculating on their color, Ferishtah is not 
able to tell black from white. Ferishtah, living 
in a soothing climate, could stand an indefinite 
amount of this sort of thing ; and, moreover, we 
must remember that he was a dervish, and der- 
vishry, although a steady occupation, is not exact- 
ing in its requirements. In our more stimulating 
climate, we should bring on nervous prostration 
if we gave ourselves unremittingly to the dis- 
crimination between all the possible variations of 
blackishness and whitishness. We must relieve 
our minds by occasionally finding something about 
which there can be no doubt. When my eyes 
rested on the woodcut that adorns the first page 
of " The Pirate's Own Book," I felt the rest that 
comes from perfect certainty in my own moral 



114 CONSCIENCE CONCEENING WITCHCRAFTS 

judgment. Ferishtah himself could not have 
mixed me up. Here was black without a redeem- 
ing spot. On looking upon this pirate, I felt 
relieved from any criticism of life ; here was 
something beneath criticism. I was no longer 
tossed about on a chop sea, with its conflicting 
waves of feeling and judgment, but was borne 
along triumphantly on a bounding billow of moral 
reprobation. 

As I looked over the headings of the chapters, 
I was struck by their straightforward and undis- 
guised character. When I read the chapter en- 
titled The Savage A'ppearance of the Pirates, 
and compared this with the illustrations, I said, 
" How true ! " Then there was a chapter on the 
Deceitful Character of the Malays. I had always 
suspected that the Malays were deceitful, and 
here I found my impressions justified by compe- 
tent authority. Then I dipped into the preface, 
and found the same transparent candor. " A 
piratical crew," says the author, "is generally 
formed of the desperadoes and renegades of 
every clime and nation." Again I said, "Just 
what I should have expected. The writer is evi- 
dently one who ' nothing extenuates.' " Then 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 115 

follows a further description of the pirate : " The 
pirate, from the perilous nature of his occupation, 
when not cruising on the ocean, that great high- 
way of nations, selects the most lonely isles of 
the sea for his retreat, or secretes himself near 
the shores of bays and lagoons of thickly wooded 
and uninhabited countries." Just the places 
where I should have expected him to settle. 

"The pirate, when not engaged in robbing, 
passes his time in singing old songs with choruses 
like, — 

' Drain, drain the bowl, each fearless soul ! 
Let the world wag as it will ; 
Let the heavens growl, let the devil howl, 
Drain, drain the deep bowl and fill ! ' 

Thus his hours of relaxation are passed in wild 
and extravagant frolics, amongst the lofty forests 
and spicy groves of the torrid zone, and amidst 
the aromatic and beautiful flowering vegetable 
products of that region." 

Again : " With the name of pirate is also asso- 
ciated ideas of rich plunder, — caskets of buried 
jewels, chests of gold ingots, bags of outlandish 
coins, secreted in lonely out-of-the-way places, or 
buried about the wild shores of rivers and unex- 



116 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

plored seacoasts, near rocks and trees bearing 
mysterious marks, indicating where the treasure 
is hid." " As it is his invariable practice to 
secrete and bury his booty, and from the peril- 
ous life he lives being often killed, he can never 
revisit the spot again, immense sums remaining 
buried in these places are irrevocably lost." Is 
it any wonder that, with such an introduction, I 
became interested? 

After a perusal of the book, I am inclined to 
think that a pirate may be a better person to 
read about than some persons who stand higher 
in the moral scale. Compare, if you will, a pi- 
rate and a pessimist. As a citizen and neighbor 
I should prefer the pessimist. A pessimist is an 
excellent and highly educated gentleman, who 
has been so unfortunate as to be born into a 
world which is inadequate to his expectations. 
Naturally he feels that he has a grievance, and 
in airing his grievance he makes himself unpopu- 
lar ; but it is certainly not his fault that the uni- 
verse is no better than it is. On the other hand, 
a pirate is a bad character ; yet as a subject of 
biography he is more inspiring than the pessi- 
mist. In one case, we have the impression of one 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 117 

good man in a totally depraved world ; in the 
other case, we have a totally depraved man in 
what but for him would be a very good world. 
I know of nothing that gives one a more genial 
appreciation of average human nature, or a 
greater tolerance for the foibles of one's ac- 
quaintances, than the contrast with an unmiti- 
gated pirate. 

My copy of " The Pirate's Own Book " belongs 
to the edition of 1837. On the fly-leaf it bore in 
prim handwriting the name of a lady who for 
many years must have treasured it. I like to 
think of this unknown lady in connection with 
the book. I know that she must have been an 
excellent soul, and I have no doubt that her New 
England conscience pointed to the moral law as 
the needle to the pole ; but she was a wise woman, 
and knew that if she was to keep her conscience 
in good repair she must give it some reasonable 
relaxation. I am sure that she was a woman of 
versatile philanthropy, and that every moment 
she had the ability to make two duties grow 
where only one had grown before. After, how- 
ever, attending the requisite number of lectures 
to improve her mind, and considering in com- 



118 CONSCIENCE CONCEKNING WITCHCEAFTS 

nrittees plans to improve other people's minds 
forcibly, and going to meetings to lament over 
the condition of those who had no minds to im- 
prove, this good lady would feel that she had 
earned a right to a few minutes' respite. So she 
would take up "The Pirate's Own Book," and 
feel a creepy sensation that would be an effectual 
counter-irritant to all her anxieties for the wel- 
fare of the race. Things might be going slowly, 
and there were not half as many societies as there 
ought to be, and the world might be in a bad way; 
but then it was not so bad as it was in the days 
of Black Beard ; and the poor people who did 
not have any societies to belong to were, after all, 
not so badly off as the sailors whom the atro- 
cious Nicola left on a desert island, with nothing 
but a blunderbuss and Mr. Brooks's Family 
Prayer Book. In fact, it is expressly stated that 
the pirates refused to give them a cake of soap. 
To be on a desert island destitute of soap made 
the common evils of life appear trifling. She 
had been worried about the wicked people who 
would not do their duty, however faithfully they 
had been prodded up to it, who would not be life 
members on payment of fifty dollars, and who 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 119 

would not be annual members on payment of a 
dollar and signing the constitution, and who in 
their hard and impenitent hearts would not even 
sit on the platform at the annual meeting ; but 
somehow their guilt seemed less extreme after 
she had studied again the picture of Captain 
Kidd burying his Bible in the sands near Plym- 
outh. A man who would bury his Bible, using a 
spade several times too large for him, and who 
would strike such a world-defying attitude while 
doing it, made the sin of not joining the society 
appear almost venial. In this manner she gained 
a certain moral perspective ; even after days 
when the public was unusually dilatory about 
reforms, and the wheels of progress had begun 
to squeak, she would get a good night's sleep. 
Contrasting the public with the black back- 
ground of absolute piracy, she grew tolerant of 
its shortcomings, and learned the truth of George 
Herbert's saying, that " pleasantness of dispo- 
sition is a great key to do good." 

Not only is a pirate a more comfortable person 
to read about than a pessimist, but in many re- 
spects he is a more comfortable person to read 
about than a philanthropist. The minute the 



120 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

philanthropist is introduced, the author begins to 
show his own cleverness by discovering flaws in 
his motives. You begin to see that the poor man 
has his limitations. Perhaps his philanthropies 
are of a different kind from yours, and that irri- 
tates you. Musical people, whom I have heard 
criticise other musical people, seem more offended 
when some one flats just a little than when he 
makes a big ear-splitting discord ; and moralists 
are apt to have the same fastidiousness. The 
philanthropist is made the victim of the most 
cruel kind of vivisection, — a character-study. 

Here is a fragment of conversation from a 
study of character : " * That was really heroic,' 
said Felix. ' That was what he wanted to do,' 
Gertrude went on. 'He wanted to be magnan- 
imous ; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure ; 
he made up his mind to do his duty; he felt 
sublime, — that 's how he likes to feel.' " 

This leaves the mind in a painful state of sus- 
pense. The first instinct of the unsophisticated 
reader is that if the person has done a good deed, 
we ought not to begrudge him a little innocent 
pleasure in it. If he is magnanimous, why not 
let him feel magnanimous ? But after Gertrude 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 121 

has made these subtle suggestions we begin to 
experience something like antipathy for a man 
who is capable of having a fine moral pleasure ; 
who not only does his duty, but really likes to do 
it. There is something wrong about him, and it 
is all the more aggravating because we are not 
sure just what it is. There is no trouble of that 
kind in reading about pirates. You cannot make 
a character-study out of a pirate, — he has no 
character. You know just where to place him. 
You do not expect anything good of him, and 
when you find a sporadic virtue you are corre- 
spondingly elated. 

For example, I am pleased to read of the 
pirate Gibbs that he was "affable and commu- 
nicative, and when he smiled he exhibited a mild 
and gentle countenance. His conversation was 
concise and pertinent, and his style of illustra- 
tion quite original." If Gibbs had been a phi- 
lanthropist, it is doubtful whether these social 
and literary graces would have been so highly 
appreciated. 

So our author feels a righteous glow when 
speaking of the natives of the Malabar coasts, 
and accounting for their truthfulness : " For as 



122 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

they had been used to deal with pirates, they 
always found them men of honor in the way of 
trade, — a people enemies of deceit, and that 
scorned to rob but in their own way." 

He is a very literal-minded person, and takes 
all his pirates seriously, but often we are sur- 
prised by some touch of nature that makes the 
whole world kin. There was the ferocious Bene- 
vedes, who flourished on the west coast of South 
America, and who, not content with sea power, 
attempted to gather an army. It is said that 
" a more finished picture of a pirate cannot be 
conceived," and the description that follows cer- 
tainly bears out this assertion. Yet he had his 
own ideas of civilization, and a power of adapta- 
tion that reminds us of the excellent and ingen- 
ious Swiss Family Robinson. When he captures 
the American whaling-ship Herculia, we are pre- 
pared for a wild scene of carnage ; but instead 
we are told that Benevedes immediately disman- 
tled the ship, and " out of the sails made trousers 
for half his army." After the trousers had been 
distributed, Benevedes remarked that his army 
was complete except in one essential particular, 
— he had no trumpets for the cavalry: where- 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 123 

upon, at the suggestion of the New Bedford skip- 
per, he ripped off the copper sheets of the vessel, 
out of which a great variety of copper trumpets 
were quickly manufactured, and soon " the whole 
camp resounded with the warlike blasts." While 
the delighted pirates were enjoying their instru- 
mental music, the skipper and nine of the crew 
took occasion to escape in a boat which had been 
imprudently concealed on the river bank. 

In the " Proverbial Philosophy " we are told 
that 

" Many virtues weighted by excess sink among the vices, 
Many vices, amicably buoyed, float among the virtues." 

Had Mr. Tupper been acquainted with the 
career of Captain Davis of the Spanish Main, 
he would have found many apt illustrations of 
his thesis. Captain Davis had the vices inci- 
dental to a piratical career, but they were ami- 
cably buoyed up by some virtues which would 
have adorned a different station in life. He was 
a great stickler for parliamentary law, and every- 
thing under his direction was done decently and 
in order. Whenever it was possible, he made his 
demands in writing, a method which was business- 
like and left no room for misunderstanding. 



124 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

After a sloop had been seized and duly pillaged, 
we are informed that : — 

"In full possession of the vessel and stores 
and goods, a large bowl of punch was made. 
Under its exhilarating influence it was proposed 
to choose a commander, and to form a future 
mode of policy. The election was soon over and 
a large majority of legal voters were in favor of 
Davis, and, no scrutiny being demanded, Davis 
was declared duly elected. He then addressed 
them in a short and appropriate speech." 

The chief virtue of Davis seemed to be neat- 
ness, which on one occasion he used to admirable 
advantage. " Encountering a French ship of 
twenty-four guns, Davis proposed to the crew to 
attack her, assuring them that she would prove 
a rich prize. This appeared to the crew such a 
hazardous enterprise that they were adverse to 
the measure ; but he acquainted them that he 
had conceived a stratagem that he was confident 
would succeed." 

This stratagem was worthy of the Beau Brum- 
mel of pirates. At the critical moment, the crew 
"according to the direction of Davis appeared 
on deck in white shirts, which making an ap- 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 125 

pearance of numbers the Frenchman was intimi- 
dated and struck." Why the white shirts should 
have given the appearance of numbers it is diffi- 
cult to understand, but we can well understand 
the surprise of the Frenchman over the pirate's 
immaculate attire. 

Most of the pirates seem to have* conducted 
their lives on a highly romantic, not to say sen- 
sational plan. This reprehensible practice, of 
course, must shut them off from the sympathy of 
all realists of the stricter school, who hold that 
there should be no dramatic situations, and that 
even when a story is well begun it should not be 
brought to a finish, but should " peter out " in 
the last chapters, no one knows how or why. 
Sometimes, however, a pirate manages to come 
to an end sufficiently commonplace to make a 
plot for a most irreproachable novel. There was 
Captain Avery. He commenced the practice of 
his profession very auspiciously by running away 
with a ship of thirty guns from Bristol. In the 
Indian Ocean he captured a treasure-ship of the 
Great Mogul. In this ship, it is said, "there 
were several of the greatest persons of the court." 
There was also on board the daughter of the 



126 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

Great Mogul, who was on a pilgrimage to Mecca. 
The painstaking historian comments on this very 
justly : " It is well known that the people of the 
East travel with great magnificence, so that they 
had along with them all their slaves, with a large 
quantity of vessels of gold and silver and im- 
mense sums of money. The spoil, therefore, that 
Avery received from that ship was almost incal- 
culable." To capture the treasure-ship of the 
Great Mogul under such circumstances would 
have turned the head of any ordinary pirate who 
had weakened his mind by reading works tinged 
with romanticism. His companions, when the 
treasure was on board, wished to sail to Mada- 
gascar, and there build a small fort ; but " Avery 
disconcerted the plan and rendered it altogether 
unnecessary." We know perfectly well what 
these wretches would have done if they had 
been allowed to have their own way: they would 
have gathered in one of the spicy groves, and 
would have taken up vociferously their song, — 

" Drain, drain the bowl, each fearless soul ! 
Let the world wag as it will." 

Avery would have none of this, so when most of 
the men were away from the ship he sailed off 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 127 

with the treasure, leaving them to their evil ways, 
and to a salutary poverty. Here begins the real- 
ism of the story. With the treasures of the Great 
Mogul in his hold, he did not follow the illusive 
course of Captain Kidd, "as he sailed, as he 
sailed." He did not even lay his course for the 
" coasts of Coromandel." Instead of that he 
made a bee-line for America, with the laudable 
intention of living there " in affluence and honor." 
When he got to America, however, he did not 
know what to do with himself, and still less what 
to do with the inestimable pearls and diamonds 
of the Great Mogul. An ordinary pirate of ro- 
mance would have escaped to the Spanish Main, 
but Avery did just what any realistic gentleman 
would do : after he had spent a short time in other 
cities — he concluded to go to Boston. The 
chronicler adds, " Arriving at Boston, he almost 
resolved to settle there." It was in the time of 
the Mathers. But in spite of its educational and 
religious advantages, Boston furnished no mar- 
ket for the gems of the Orient, so Captain Avery 
went to England. If he had in his youth read a 
few detective stories, he might have known how 
to get his jewels exchanged for the current coin 



128 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

of the realm ; but his early education had been 
neglected, and he was of a singularly confiding 
and unsophisticated nature — when on land. 
After suffering from poverty he made the ac- 
quaintance of some wealthy merchants of Bristol, 
who took his gems on commission, on condition 
that they need not inquire how he came by them. 
That was the last Avery saw of the gems of the 
Great Mogul. A plain pirate was no match for 
financiers. Remittances were scanty, though 
promises were frequent. What came of it all ? 
Nothing came of it ; things simply dragged along. 
Avery was not hanged, neither did he get his 
money. At last, on a journey to Bristol to urge 
the merchants to a settlement, he fell sick and 
died. What became of the gems? Nobody 
knows. What became of those merchants of 
Bristol? Nobody cares. A novelist might, out 
of such material, make an ending quite clever 
and dreary. 

To this realistic school of pirates belongs 
Thomas Veal, known in our history as the " Pirate 
of Lynn." To turn from the chapter on the Life, 
Atrocities, and Bloody Death of Black-Beard to 
the chapter on the Lynn Pirate, is a relief to the 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 129 

overstrained sensibilities. Lynn is in the temper- 
ate zone, and we should naturally reason that its 
piracies would be more calm and equable than 
those of the tropics, and so they were. " On one 
pleasant evening, a little after sunset, a small 
vessel was seen to anchor near the mouth of the 
Saugus Kiver. A boat was presently lowered 
from her side, into which four men descended and 
moved up the river." It is needless to say that 
these men were pirates. In the morning the 
vessel had disappeared, but a man found a paper 
whereon was a statement that if a quantity of 
shackles, handcuffs, and hatchets were placed in 
a certain nook, silver would be deposited near by 
to pay for them. The people of Lynn in those 
days were thrifty folk, and the hardware was duly 
placed in the spot designated, and the silver was 
found as promised. After some months four 
pirates came and settled in the woods. The his- 
torian declares it to be his opinion (and he speaks 
as an expert) that it would be impossible to select 
a place more convenient for a gang of pirates. 
He draws particular attention to the fact that the 
" ground was well selected for the cultivation of 
potatoes and common vegetables." This shows 



ICO CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

that the New England environment gave an in- 
dustrial and agricultural cast to piracy which it 
has not had elsewhere. In fact, after reading the 
whole chapter, I am struck by the pacific and 
highly moral character of these pirates. The 
last of them — Thomas Veal — took up his abode 
in what is described as a " spacious cavern," about 
two miles from Lynn. " There the fugitive fixed 
his residence, and practiced the trade of a shoe- 
maker, occasionally coming down to the village to 
obtain articles of sustenance." By uniting the 
occupations of market-gardening, shoe-making, 
and piracy, Thomas Veal managed to satisfy the 
demands of a frugal nature, and to live respected 
by his neighbors in Lynn. It must have been a 
great alleviation in the lot of the small boys, when 
now and then they escaped from the eyes of the 
tithing-men, and in the cave listened to Mr. Veal 
singing his pirate's songs. Of course a solo could 
give only a faint conception of what the full chorus 
would have been in the tropical forests, but still 
it must have curdled the blood to a very consider- 
able extent. 

There is, I must confess, a certain air of vague- 
ness about this interesting narration. No overt 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 131 

act of piracy is mentioned. Indeed, the evidence 
in regard to the piratical character of Mr. Yeal, 
so far as it is given in this book, is largely cir- 
cumstantial. 

There is, first, the geographical argument. 
The Saugus River, being a winding stream, was 
admirably adapted for the resort of pirates who 
wished to prey upon the commerce of Boston and 
Salem. This establishes the opportunity and 
motive, and renders it antecedently probable that 
piracy was practiced. The river, it is said, was 
a good place in which to secrete boats. This we 
know from our reading was the invariable practice 
of pirates. 

Another argument is drawn from the umbra- 
geous character of the Lynn woods. We are told 
with nice particularity that in this tract of coun- 
try " there were many thick pines, hemlocks, and 
cedars, and places where the rays of the sun at 
noon could not penetrate." Such a place would 
be just the spot in which astute pirates would 
be likely to bury their treasure, confident that 
it would never be discovered. The fact that 
nothing ever has been discovered here seems to 
confirm this supposition. 



132 CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 

The third argument is that while a small cave 
still remains, the " spacious cavern " in which 
Thomas Veal, the piratical shoemaker, is said to 
have dwelt no longer exists. This clinches the 
evidence. For there was an earthquake in 1658. 
What more likely than that, in the earthquake, 
" the top of the rock was loosened and crushed 
down into the mouth of the cavern, inclosing the 
unfortunate inmate in its unyielding prison?" 
At any rate, there is no record of Mr. Veal or of 
his spacious cavern after that earthquake. 

No one deserves to be called an antiquarian 
who cannot put two and two together, and recon- 
struct from these data a more or less elaborate 
history of the piracies of Mr. Thomas Veal. The 
only other explanation of the facts presented, that 
I can think of as having any degree of plausibility, 
is that possibly Mr. Veal may have been an Ana- 
baptist, escaped from Boston, who imposed upon 
the people of Lynn by making them believe that , 
he was only a pirate. 

I must in candor admit that the Plutarch of 
piracy is sometimes more edifying than entertain- 
ing. He can never resist the temptation to draw 
a moral, and his dogmatic bias in favor of the 



CONSCIENCE CONCERNING WITCHCRAFTS 133 

doctrine of total depravity is only too evident. 
But his book has the great advantage that it is 
not devoid of incident. Take it all in all, there 
are worse books to read — after one is tired of 
reading books that are better. 

I am inclined to think that our novelists must 
make home happy, or they may drive many of 
their readers to " The Pirate's Own Book." The 
policy of the absolute prohibition of romance, 
while excellent in theory, has practical difficul- 
ties in the way of enforcement. Perhaps, under 
certain restrictions, license might be issued to 
proper persons to furnish stimulants to the im- 
agination. Of course the romancer should not 
be allowed to sell to minors, nor within a certain 
distance of a schoolhouse, nor to habitual read- 
ers. My position is the conservative one that 
commended itself to the judicious Rollo. 

" ' Well, Eollo,' said Dorothy, ' shall I tell you 
a true story, or one that is not true ? ' 

" ' I think, on the whole, Dorothy, I would 
rather have it true.' " 

But there must have been times — though none 
are recorded — when Rollo tired even of the ad- 
mirable clear thinking and precise information of 



> 



134 CONSCIENCE CONCEENING WITCHCKAFTS 

Jonas. At such times he might have tolerated a 
story that was not so very true, if only it were 
interesting. There are main thoroughfares paved 
with hard facts where the intellectual traffic must 
go on continually. There are tracks on which, 
if a heedless child of romance should stray, he 
is in danger of being run down by the realists, 
those grim motor-men of the literary world. But 
outside the congested districts there should be 
some roadways leading out into the open coun- 
try where all things are still possible. At the 
entrance to each of these roads there ought to be 
displayed the notice, " For pleasure only. No 
heavy teaming allowed." I should not permit 
any modern improvements in this district, but I 
should preserve all its natural features. There 
should be not only a feudal castle with moat and 
drawbridge, but also a pirate's cave. 



K 



— -c->(^ce>*&-T^- 



II HAPPEN to live in a community where 
there is a deeply rooted prejudice in favor of 
intelligence, with many facilities for its advance- 
ment. I may, therefore, be looked upon as un- 
mindful of my privileges when I confess that 
my chief pleasures have been found in the more 
secluded paths of ignorance. 

I am no undiscriminating lover of Ignorance. 
I do not like the pitch-black kind which is the 
negation of all thought. What I prefer is a 
pleasant intellectual twilight, where one sees 
realities through an entrancing atmosphere of 
dubiety. 

In visiting a fine old Elizabethan mansion in 



136 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

the south of England our host took us to a room 
where he had discovered the evidences of a secret 
panel. " What is behind it ? " we asked. " I do 
not know," he answered ; " while I live it shall 
never be opened, for then I should have no 
secret chamber." 

There was a philosopher after my own heart. 
He was wise enough to resist the temptation to 
sell his birthright of mystery for a mess of 
knowledge. The rural New Englander expresses 
his interest by saying, " I want to know ! " But 
may one not have a real interest in persons and 
things which is free from inquisitiveness ? For 
myself, I frequently prefer not to know. Were 
Bluebeard to do me the honor of intrusting me 
with his keys, I should spend a pleasant half -hour 
speculating on his family affairs. I might even 
put the key in the lock, but I do not think I 
should turn it. Why should I destroy twenty 
exciting possibilities for the sake of a single 
discovery ? 

I like to watch certain impressive figures as 
they cross the College Yard. They seem like 
the sages whom Dante saw : — 

" People were there with solemn eyes and slow, 
Of great authority in their countenance." 



THE HONOKABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 137 

Do I therefore inquire their names, and intru- 
sively seek to know what books they have written, 
before I admire their scholarship? No, to my 
old-fashioned way of thinking, scholarship is not a 
thing to be measured ; it is a mysterious effluence. 
Were I to see — 

" Democritus who puts the world on chance, 
Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales, 
Zeno, Empedocles, and Heraclitus, 



Tully and Livy and moral Seneca, 
Euclid, geometrician, and Ptolemy, 
Galen, Hippocrates, and Avicenna," 



I should not care to ask, "Which is which?" 
still less should I venture to interview Galen on 
the subject of medicine, or put leading questions 
to Diogenes. The combined impression of in- 
effable wisdom would be more to me than any 
particular information I might get out of them. 

But, as I said, I am not an enthusiast for Igno- 
rance. Mine is not the zeal of a new convert, but 
the sober preference of one to the manner born. 
I do not look upon it as a panacea, nor, after the 
habit of reformers, would I insist that it should 
be taught in the public schools. There are im- 
portant spheres wherein exact information is much 
to be preferred. 



138 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

Because Ignorance has its own humble mea- 
sure of bliss I would not jump at the conclusion 
that it is folly to be wise. That is an extrava- 
gant statement. If real wisdom were offered me 
I should accept it gratefully. Wisdom is an 
honorable estate, and, doubtless, it has pleasures 
of its own. I only have in mind the alternative 
that is usually presented to us, conscious igno- 
rance or a kind of knowingness. 

It is necessary, at this point, to make a dis- 
tinction. A writer on the use of words has a 
chapter on Ignorantism, which is a term he uses 
to indicate Ignorance that mistakes itself, or 
seeks to make others mistake it, for Knowledge. 
For Ignorantism I make no plea. If Ignorance 
puts on a false uniform and is caught within the 
enemy's lines, it must suffer the penalties laid 
down in the laws of war. 

Nor would I defend what Milton calls "the 
barbarous ignorance of the schools." This 
scholastic variety consists of the scientific defi- 
nition and classification of " things that are n't 
so." It has no value except as a sort of gela- 
tine culture for the propagation of verbal bac- 
teria. 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 139 

But the affectations of the pedants or the 
sciolists should not be allowed to cast discredit 
on the fair name of Ignorance. It is only 
natural Ignorance which I praise; not that 
which is acquired. It was a saying of Landor 
that if a man had a large mind he could afford 
to let the greater part of it lie fallow. Of course 
we small proprietors cannot do things on such a 
generous scale ; but it seems to me that if one 
has only a little mind it is a mistake to keep it 
all under cultivation. 

I hope that this praise of Ignorance may not 
give offense to any intelligent reader who may 
feel that he is placed by reason of his acquire- 
ments beyond the pale of our sympathies. He 
need fear no such exclusion. My Lady Igno- 
rance is gracious and often bestows her choicest 
gifts on those who scorn her. The most erudite 
person is intelligent only in spots. Browning's 
Bishop Blougram questioned whether he should 
be called a skeptic or believer, seeing that he 
could only exchange 

" a life of doubt diversified by faith, 
For one of f aitb diversified by doubt : 
We called the chess-board white, — we call it black." 



140 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

Whether a person thinks of his own intellectual 
state as one of knowledge diversified by igno- 
rance or one of ignorance diversified by know- 
ledge is a matter of temperament. We like him 
better when he frankly calls his intellectual 
chess-board black. That, at any rate, was the 
original color, the white is an afterthought. 

Let me, then, without suspicion of treasonable 
intent, be allowed to point out what we may call 
in Shakespearean phrase "the honorable points 
of ignorance." 

The social law against " talking shop "is an 
indication of the very widespread opinion that 
the exhibition of unmitigated knowledge is un- 
seemly, outside of business hours. When we 
meet for pleasure we prefer that it should be on 
the humanizing ground of not knowing. Nothing 
is so fatal to conversation as an authoritative ut- 
terance. When a man who is capable of giving 
it enters, 

" All talk dies, as in a grove all song 
Beneath the shadow of a bird of prey." 

Conversation about the weather would lose all its 
easy charm in the presence of the Chief of the 
Weather Bureau. 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 141 

It is possible that the fear of exhibiting un- 
usual information in a mixed company may be 
a survival of primitive conditions. Just as the 
domesticated dog will turn around on the rug 
before lying down, for hereditary reasons which 
I do not remember, so it is with civilized man. 
Once ignorance was universal and enforced by 
penalties. In the progress of the race the envi- 
ronment has been modified, but so strong is the 
influence of heredity that The Man Who Knows 
no sooner enters the drawing-room than he is 
seized by guilty fears. His ancestors for hav- 
ing exhibited a moiety of his intelligence were 
executed as wizards. But perhaps the ordinary 
working of natural selection may account for the 
facts. The law of the survival of the fittest ad- 
mits of no exceptions, and the fittest to give us 
pleasure in conversation is the sympathetic per- 
son who appears to know very little more than 
we do. 

In the commerce of ideas there must be reci- 
procity. We will not deal with one who insists 
that the balance of trade shall always be in his 
favor. Moreover there must be a spice of in- 
certitude about the transaction. The real joy of 



142 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

the intellectual traffic comes when we sail away 
like the old merchant adventurers in search of 
a market. There must be no prosaic bills of 
exchange : it must be primitive barter. We 
have a choice cargo of beads which we are 
willing to exchange for frankincense and ivory. 
If on some strange coast we should meet simple- 
minded people who have only wampum, perhaps 
even then we might make a trade. 

Have you never when engaged in such com- 
merce felt something of the spirit of the grave 
Tyrian trader who had sailed away from the fre- 
quented marts, and held on 

" O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale, 

Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, 

To where the Atlantic raves 
Outside the western straits, and unbent sails 
There where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, 
Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come ; 
And on the beach undid his corded bales." 

It is not every day that one meets with such 
shy traffickers, for the world is becoming very 
sophisticated. One does not ask that those with 
whom we converse should be ignorant of every- 
thing ; it is enough that they should not know 
what is in our bales before we undo them. 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNOEANCE 143 

One very serious drawback to our pleasure in 
conversation with a too well-informed person is 
the nervous strain that is involved. We are 
always wondering what will happen when he 
comes to the end of his resources. After listen- 
ing to one who discourses with surprising accu- 
racy upon any particular topic, we feel a delicacy 
in changing the subject. It seems a mean trick, 
like suddenly removing the chair on which a 
guest is about to sit down for the evening. With 
one who is interested in a great many things he 
knows little about there is no such difficulty. If 
he has passed the first flush of youth, it no longer 
embarrasses him to be caught now and then in a 
mistake ; indeed your correction is welcomed as 
an agreeable interruption, and serves as a start- 
ing point for a new series of observations. 

The pleasure of conversation is enhanced if 
one feels assured not only of wide margins of 
ignorance, but also of the absence of uncanny 
quickness of mind. 

I should not like to be neighbor to a wit. It 
would be like being in proximity to a live wire. 
A certain insulating film of kindly stupidity is 
needed to give a margin of safety to human in- 



144 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

tercourse. There are certain minds whose pro- 
cesses convey the impression of alternating cur- 
rents o£ high voltage on a wire that is not quite 
large enough for them. From such I would with- 
draw myself. 

One is freed from all such apprehensions in the 
companionship of people who make no pretensions 
to any kind of cleverness. " The laughter of 
fools is like the crackling of thorns under a pot." 
What cheerful sounds ! The crackling of the dry 
thorns ! and the merry bubbling of the pot ! 

There is an important part played by what I 
may call defensive Ignorance. It was said of 
Robert Elsmere that he had a mind that was 
defenseless against the truth. It is a fine thing 
to be thus open to conviction, but the mental hos- 
pitality of one who is without prejudices is likely 
to be abused. All sorts of notions importunately 
demand attention, and he who thinks to examine 
all their credentials will find no time left for his 
own proper affairs. 

For myself, I like to have a general reception- 
room in my mind for all sorts of notions with 
which I desire to keep up only a calling acquaint- 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 145 

ance. Here let them all be welcomed, good, bad, 
and indifferent, in the spacious antechamber of 
my Ignorance. But I am not able to invite 
them into my private apartments, for I am living 
in a small way in cramped quarters, where there 
is only room for my own convictions. There are 
many things that are interesting to hear about 
which I do not care to investigate. If one is 
willing to give me the result of his speculations 
on various esoteric doctrines I am ready to re- 
ceive them in the spirit in which they are offered, 
but I should not think of examining them closely ; 
it would be too much like looking a gift horse in 
the mouth. 

I should like to talk with a Mahatma about the 
constitution of the astral body. I do not know 
enough about the subject to contradict his asser- 
tions, and therefore he would have it all his own 
way. But were he to become insistent and ask 
me to look into the matter for myself, I should 
beg to be excused. I would not take a single 
step alone. In such a case I agree with Sir 
Thomas Browne that " it is better to sit down in 
modest ignorance and rest contented with the 
natural blessings of our own reasons." 



146 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNOEANCE 

There are zealous persons of a proselyting turn 
of mind who insist upon our accepting their ideas 
or giving reasons for our rejection of them. 
When we see the flames of controversy sweeping 
upon us, the only safety lies in setting a back 
fire which shall clear the ground of any fuel for 
argument. If we can only surround ourselves 
with a bare space of nescience we may rest in 
peace. I have seen a simple Chinese laundry- 
man, by adopting this plan, resist a storm of 
argument and invective without losing his temper 
or yielding his point. Serene, imperturbable, in- 
scrutable, he stood undisturbed by the strife of 
tongues. He had one supreme advantage, — he 
did not know the language. 

It was thus in the sixteenth century, when reli- 
gious strife waxed mad around him, that Mon- 
taigne preserved a little spot of tolerant thought. 
" O what a soft, easy, and wholesome pillow is 
ignorance and incuriosity whereon to compose a 
well-contrived head ! " 

This sounds like mere Epicureanism, but Mon- 
taigne had much to say for himself : " Great 
abuse in the world is begot, or, to speak more 
boldly, all the abuses of the world are begot by 



THE HONOKABLE POINTS OF IGNOKANCE 147 

our being taught to be afraid of professing our 
ignorance, and that we are bound to accept all 
things we are not able to refute. . . . They make 
me hate things that are likely when they impose 
upon me for infallible. I love those words which 
mollify and moderate the temerity of our propo- 
sitions, ' Peradventure, in some sort, 't is said, I 
think,' and the like. . . . There is a sort of igno- 
rance, strong and generous, that yields nothing in 
honor and courage to knowledge ; an ignorance 
which to conceive requires no less knowledge 
than knowledge itself." 

Not only is protection needed from the dog- 
matic assaults of our neighbors, but also from 
our own premature ideas. There are opinions 
which we are willing to receive on probation, but 
these probationers must be taught by judicious 
snubbing to know their place. The plausibilities 
and probabilities that are pleasantly received 
must not airily assume the place of certainties. 
Because you say to a stranger, " I 'm glad to see 
you," it is not certain that you are ready to sign 
his note at the bank. 

When one happens to harbor any ideas of a 
radical character, he is fortunate if he is so con- 



148 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

stituted that it is not necessary for his self- 
respect that he should be cock-sure. The con- 
sciousness of the imperfection of his knowledge 
serves as a buffer when the train of progress 
starts with a jerk. 

Sir Thomas More was, it is evident, favorably- 
impressed with many of the sentiments of the 
gentleman from Utopia, but it was a great relief 
to him to be able to give them currency without 
committing himself to them. He makes no dog- 
matic assertion that the constitution of Utopia 
was better than that of the England of Henry 
VIII. In fact, he professes to know nothing 
about Utopia except from mere hearsay. He 
gracefully dismisses the subject, allowing the 
seeds of revolutionary ideas to float away on the 
thistle-down of polite Ignorance. 

" When Raphael had made an end of speak- 
ing, though many things occurred to me both 
concerning the manners and laws of that country 
that seemed very absurd . . . yet since I per- 
ceived that Raphael was weary and I was not sure 
whether he could bear contradiction ... I only 
commended their constitution and the account he 
had given of it in general ; and so, taking him by 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNOEANCE 149 

the hand, carried him to supper, and told him I 
would find some other time for examining this 
subject more particularly and discoursing more 
copiously upon it." 

One whose quiet tastes lead him away from the 
main traveled roads into the byways of Ignorance 
is likely to retain a feeling in regard to books 
which belongs to an earlier stage of culture. 
Time was when a book was a symbol of intel- 
lectual mysteries rather than a tool to be used. 
When Omar Khayyam sang of the delights of a 
jug of wine and a book, I do not think he was 
intemperate in the use of either. The same book 
and the same jug of wine would last him a long 
time. The chief thing was that it gave him a 
comfortable feeling to have them within reach. 

The primitive feeling in regard to a book as a 
kind of talisman survives chiefly among biblio- 
philes, but with them it is overlaid by matters of 
taste which are quite beyond the comprehension 
of ordinary people. As for myself, I know no- 
thing of such niceties. 

I know nothing of rare bindings or fine edi- 
tions. My heart is never disturbed by coveting 



150 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

the contents of my neighbor's bookshelves. In- 
deed, I have always listened to the tenth com- 
mandment with a tranquil heart since I learned, 
in the Shorter Catechism, that " the tenth com- 
mandment forbiddeth all discontentment with 
our own estate, envying or grieving at the good 
of our neighbor and all inordinate motions and 
affections to anything that is his." If that be all, 
it is not aimed at me, particularly in this matter 
of books. 

I feel no discontentment at the disorderly array 
of bound volumes that I possess. I know that 
they are no credit either to my taste or to my 
scholarship, but if that offends my neighbor, the 
misery is his, not mine. If he should bring a 
railing accusation against me, let him remember 
that there is a ninth commandment which " for- 
biddeth anything that is injurious to our own or 
our neighbor's good name." As for any inor- 
dinate motions or affections toward his literary 
treasures, I have no more than toward his choice 
collection of stamps. 

Yet I have one weakness in common with the 
bibliophile ; I have a liking for certain books 
which I have neither time nor inclination to read. 



THE HONOKABLE POINTS OF IGNOKANCE 151 

Just as according to the mediaeval theory there 
was a sanctity about a duly ordained clergyman 
altogether apart from his personal character, so 
there is to my mind an impressiveness about some 
volumes which has little to do with their contents, 
or at least with my knowledge of them. Why 
should we be too curious in regard to such matters? 
There are books which I love to see on the shelf. 
I feel that virtue goes out of them, but I should 
think it undue familiarity to read them. 

The persons who have written on " Books that 
have helped me " have usually confined their list 
to books which they have actually read. One 
book has clarified their thoughts, another has 
stimulated their wills, another has given them 
useful knowledge. But are there no Christian 
virtues to be cultivated ? What about humility, 
that pearl of great price ? 

To be constantly reminded that you have not 
read Kant's " Critique of the Pure Reason," and 
that therefore you have no right to express a 
final opinion on philosophy, does not that save 
you from no end of unnecessary dogmatism ? 
The silent monitor with its accusing, uncut pages 
is a blessed help to the meekness of wisdom. A 



152 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

book that has helped me is " The History of 
the Eebellion and Civil Wars of England," by- 
Edward, Earl of Clarendon. I am by nature and 
education a Cromwellian, of a rather narrow type. 
I am more likely than not to think of Charles I. 
as a man of sin. When, therefore, I brought 
home Clarendon's History I felt a glow of con- 
scious virtue ; the volume was an outward and 
visible sign of inward and spiritual grace, — the 
grace of tolerance ; and so it has ever been to me. 
Years have passed, and the days of leisure have 
not yet come when I could devote myself to the 
reading of it. Perhaps the fact that I discovered 
that the noble earl's second sentence contains 
almost three hundred words may have had a dis- 
couraging influence, — but we will let that pass. 
Because I have not crossed the Rubicon of the 
second chapter, will you say that the book has 
not influenced me ? " When in my sessions of 
sweet, silent thought," with the Earl of Clarendon, 
" I summon up remembrance of time past," is it 
necessary that I should laboriously turn the pages ? 
It is enough that I feel my prejudices oozing 
away, and that I am convinced, when I look at 
the much prized volume, that there are two sides 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 153 

to this matter of the English Commonwealth. 
Could the most laborious reading do more for 
me? 

Indeed, it is dangerous, sometimes, not to let 
well-enough alone. Wordsworth's fickle Muse 
gave him several pretty fancies about the unseen 
banks of Yarrow. " Yarrow Un visited " was so 
delightful that he was almost tempted to be con- 
tent with absent treatment. 

" We will not see them, will not go 
To-day nor yet to-morrow, 
Enough if in our hearts we know 
There 's such a place as Yarrow. 
Be Yarrow's stream unseen, unknown, 
It must, or we shall rue it, 
We have a vision of our own, 
Ah, why should we undo it ? " 

Ah, why, indeed ? the reader asks, after reading 
Yarrow Visited and Yarrow Re-visited. The 
visits were a mistake. 

Perhaps Clarendon Unread is as good for my 
soul as Clarendon Read or Clarendon Re-read. 
Who can tell ? 

There is another sphere in which the honorable 
points of ignorance are not always sufficiently 



154 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

appreciated, that of Travel. The pleasure of 
staying at home consists in being surrounded by 
things which are familiar and which we know all 
about. The primary pleasure of going abroad 
consists in the encounter with the unfamiliar and 
the unknown. 

That was the impulse which stirred old Ulysses 
to set forth once more upon his travels. 

" For my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down, 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew." 

"It maybe" — there lay the charm. There 
was no knowing what might happen on the dark, 
broad seas. Perhaps they might get lost, and 
then again they might come upon the Happy 
Isles. And if as they sailed under their looming 
shores they should see the great Achilles — why 
all the better ! 

What joys the explorers of the New World 
experienced ! The heart leaps up at the very title 
of Sebastian Cabot's joint stock company. " Mer- 
chants Adventurers of England for the discovery 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 155 

of lands, territories, isles and signories, unknown." 
There was no knowing beforehand which was an 
island and which the mainland. All they had to 
do was to keep on, sure only of finding something 
which they had not expected. When they got to 
the mainland they were as likely as not to stumble 
on the great Khan himself. Of course they might 
not make a discovery of the first magnitude like 
that of the Spaniards on the Peak in Darien, — 
but if it was not one thing it was another ! 

Two or three miles back of Plymouth, Mass., 
is a modest little pond called Billington's Sea. 
Billington, an adventurous Pilgrim, had climbed 
a tree, and looking westwards had caught sight 
of the shimmering water. He looked at it with 
a wild surmise, and then the conviction flashed 
upon him that he had discovered the goal of 
hardy mariners, — the great South Sea. That 
was a great moment for Billington ! 

Of course the Spaniards were more fortunate 
in their geographical position. It turned out 
that it was the Pacific that they saw from their 
Peak in Darien ; while Billington's Sea does not 
grow on acquaintance. 

But my heart goes out to Billington. He also 



156 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

was a discoverer, according to his lights. He 
belonged to a hardy breed, and could stare on 
new scenes with the best of them. It was not 
his fault that the Pacific was not there. If it 
had been, Billington would have discovered it. 
We know perfectly well that the Pacific Ocean 
does not lave the shores of Plymouth County, 
and so we should not go out into the woods on 
a fine morning to look for it. There is where 
Billington had the advantage of us. 

Is it not curious that while we profess to envy 
the old adventurers the joys of discovery, yet 
before we set out on our travels we make it a 
point of convenience to rob ourselves of these 
possibilities ? Before we set out for Ultima Thule 
we must know precisely where it is, and how we 
are going to get there, and what we are to see 
and what others have said about it. After a 
laborious course of reading the way is as familiar 
to our minds as the road to the post office. After 
that there is nothing more for us to do but to 
sally forth to verify the guide-books. We have 
done all that we could to brush the bloom off our 
native Ignorance. 

Of course even then all the possibilities of 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 157 

discovery are not shut out. The best-informed 
person cannot be completely guarded against 
surprise. Accidents will happen, and there is 
always the chance that one may have been 
misinformed. 

I remember a depressed looking lady whom I 
encountered as she trudged through the galleries 
of the Vatican with grim conscientiousness. She 
had evidently a stern duty to perform for the 
cause of Art. But in the Sistine Chapel the 
stillness was broken by her voice, which had a 
note of triumph as she spoke to her daughter. 
She had discovered an error in Baedeker. It 
infused new life into her tired soul. 

" Some flowerets of Eden we still inherit 
Though the trail of the serpent is over them all." 

Speaking of the Vatican, that suggests the 
weak point in my argument. It suggests that 
there are occasions when knowledge is very con- 
venient. On the Peak in Darien the first comer, 
with the wild surmise of ignorance, has the ad- 
vantage in the quality of his sensation ; but it 
is different in Jerusalem or Rome. There the 
pleasure consists in the fact that a great many 
interesting people have been there before and 



158 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

done many interesting things, which it might 
be well to know about. 

At this point I am quite willing to grant an 
inch ; with the understanding that it shall not be 
lengthened into an ell. The Camel of Know- 
ledge may push his head into the tent, and we 
shall have to resist his further encroachments as 
we may. 

What we call the historic sense is not con- 
sistent with a state of nescience. The picture 
which the eye takes in is incomplete without the 
thousand associations which come from previous 
thought. Still, it remains true that the finest 
pleasure does not come when the mental images 
are the most precise. Before entering Paradise 
the mediaeval pilgrims tasted of the streams of 
Eunoe and Lethe, — the happy memory and the 
happy forgetfulness. The most potent charm 
comes from the judicious mingling of these 
waters. 

There is a feeling of antiquity that only comes 
now and then, but which it is worth traveling far 
to experience. It is the thrill that comes when 
we consciously stand in the presence of the re- 
mote past. Some scene brings with it an im- 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 159 

pression of immemorial time. In almost every 
case we find that it comes from being reminded 
of something which we have once known and 
more than half forgotten. What are the " mists 
of time " but imperfect memories ? 

Modern psychologists have given tardy recog- 
nition to the " Subliminal Self," — the self that 
lodges under the threshold of consciousness. He 
is a shy gnome, and loves the darkness rather 
than the light; not, as I believe, because his 
deeds are evil, but for reasons best known to 
himself. To all appearances he is the most ig- 
norant fellow in the world, and yet he is no fool. 
As for the odds and ends that he stores up under 
the threshold, they are of more value than the 
treasures that the priggish Understanding dis- 
plays in his show windows upstairs. 

In traveling through historic lands the Sub- 
liminal Self overcomes his shyness. There are 
scenes and even words that reach back into hoar 
antiquity, and bring us into the days of eld. 

Each person has his own chronology. If I 
were to seek to bring to mind the very ancientest 
time, I should not think of the cave-dwellers : 
I should repeat, "The Kenites, the Kenizzites, 



160 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the 
Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites." 

There is antiquity ! It is not only a long time 
since these tribes dwelt in the land ; it has been 
a long time since I first heard of them. 

My memory goes back to the time when a dis- 
consolate little boy sat on a bench in a Sunday- 
school and asked himself, " What is a Gir- 
gashite ? " 

The habit of the Sunday-school of mingling 
the historical and ethical elements in one inextri- 
cable moral had made it uncertain whether the 
Girgashite was a person or a sin. In either case 
it happened a long time ago. There upon the 
very verge of Time stood the Girgashite, like the 
ghost in Ossian, " His spear was a column of 
mist, and the stars looked dim through his form." 

Happily my studies have not led in that direc- 
tion, and there is nothing to disturb the first 
impression. If some day wandering over Ori- 
ental hills I should come upon some broken 
monuments of the Girgashites, I am sure that 
I should feel more of a thrill than could possibly 
come to my more instructed companion. To him 
it would be only the discovery of another fact, to 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 161 

fit into his scheme of knowledge : to me it would 
be like stumbling unawares into the primeval 
world. 

What is more delightful than in a railway 
train in Italy to hear voices in the night calling 
out names that recall the lost arts of our child- 
hood ! There is a sense 

" Of something here like something there, 
Of something done, I know not where, 
Such as no language can declare." 

There is a bittersweet to it, for there is a mo- 
mentary fear that you may be called upon to con- 
strue ; but when that is past it is pure joy. 

"Monte Soracte," said the Italian gentleman 
on the train between Foligno and Rome, as he 
pointed out a picturesque eminence. My an- 
swering smile was intended to convey the im- 
pression that one touch of the classics makes the 
whole world kin. Had I indeed kept up my 
Horace, a host of clean-cut ideas would have in- 
stantly rushed into my mind. " Is that Soracte ! 
It is not what I had reason to expect. As a 
mountain I prefer Monadnock." 

Fortunately I had no such prepossessions. I 
had expected nothing. There only came impres- 



162 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

sions of lessons years ago in a dingy school-room 
presided over by a loved instructor whom we 
knew as "Prof. Ike." Looking back through 
the mists of time, I felt that I had been the 
better for having learned the lessons, and none 
the worse for having long since forgotten them. 
In those days Soracte had been a noun standing 
in mysterious relations to a verb unknown ; but 
now it was evident that it was a mountain. 
There it stood under the clear Italian sky just 
as it had been in the days of Virgil and Horace. 
Thoughts of Horace and of the old professor 
mingled pleasantly so long as the mountain was 
in sight. 

It may seem to some timid souls that this 
praise of Ignorance may have a sinister motive, 
and may be intended to deter from the pursuit 
of knowledge. On the contrary, it is intended to 
encourage those who are " faint yet pursuing." 

It must have occurred to every serious person 
that the pursuit of knowledge is not what it once 
was. Time was when to know seemed the easiest 
thing in the world. All that a man had to do 
was to assert dogmatically that a thing was so, 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 163 

and then argue it out with some one who had 
even less acquaintance with the subject than he 
had. He was not hampered by a rigid, scientific 
method, nor did he need to make experiments, 
which after all might not strengthen his position. 
The chief thing was a certain tenacity of opinion 
which would enable him, in Pope's phrase, to 
" hold the eel of science by the tail." There 
were no troublesome experts to cast discredit on 
this slippery sport. If a man had a knack at 
metaphysics and a fine flow of technical language 
he could satisfy all reasonable curiosity about 
the Universe. Or with the minimum of effort 
he might attain a jovial scholarship adequate for 
all convivial purposes, like Chaucer's pilgrim 

" Whan that he wel dronken had the win, 
Than wold he speken no word but Latin." 

It was the golden age of the amateur, when 
certainty could be had for the asking, and one 
could stake out any part of the wide domain of 
human interest and hold it by the right of squat- 
ter sovereignty. But in these days the man who 
aspires to know must do something more than 
assert his conviction. He must submit to all 
sorts of mortifying tests, and at best he can ob- 



164 THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 

tain a title to only the tiniest bit of the field he 
covets. 

With the severer definitions of knowledge and 
the delimitation of the territory which any one 
may call his own there has come a curious result. 
While the aggregate of intellectual wealth has 
increased, the individual workers are being re- 
duced to penury. It is a pathetic illustration of 
Progress and Poverty. The old and highly re- 
spected class of gentlemen and scholars is being 
depleted. Scholarship has become so difficult 
that those who aspire after it have little time for 
the amenities. It is not as it was in the " spa- 
cious times of great Elizabeth." Enter any com- 
pany of modern scholars and ask what they know 
about any large subject, and you will find that 
each one hastens to take the poor debtor's oath. 
How can they be expected to know so much ? 

On this minute division of intellectual labor 
the exact sciences thrive, but conversation, 
poetry, art, and all that belongs to the humani- 
ties languish. 

Your man of highly specialized intelligence 
has often a morbid fear of half -knowledge, and 
he does not dare to express an opinion that has 



THE HONORABLE POINTS OF IGNORANCE 165 

not been the result of original research. He 
shuns the innocent questioners who would draw 
him out, as if they were so many dunning credit- 
ors. He becomes a veritable Dick Swiveller as 
one conversational thoroughfare after another is 
closed against him, until he no longer ventures 
abroad. The worst of it is that he has a haunt- 
ing apprehension that even the bit of knowledge 
which he calls his own may be taken away from 
him by some new discovery, and he may be cast 
adrift upon the Unknowable. 

It is then that he should remember the wisdom 
of the unjust steward, so that when he is cast out 
of the House of Knowledge he may find con- 
genial friends in the habitations of Ignorance. 

There are a great many mental activities that 
stop short of strict knowledge. Where we do 
not know, we may imagine, and hope, and dare ; 
we may laugh at our neighbor's mistakes, and 
occasionally at our own. We may enjoy the 
delicious moments of suspense when we are on 
the verge of finding out ; and if it should happen 
that the discovery is postponed, then we have a 
chance to go over the delightful process again. 

To say " I do not know " is not nearly as 



166 THE HONORABLE POINTS OP IGNORANCE 

painful as it seems to those who have not tried 
it. The active mind, when the conceit of abso- 
lute knowledge has been destroyed, quickly re- 
covers itself and cries out, after the manner of 
Brer Rabbit when Brer Fox threw him into the 
brier patch, " Bred en bawn in a brier patch, 
Brer Fox — bred en bawn in a brier patch ! " 



teufaMe 



-^e-«X»>>S-»^- 



HAT was a clever device which a writer of 
" mere literature " hit upon when he boldly 
dedicated his book to a man of prodigious learn- 
ing. " Who so guarded," he says, " can suspect 
his safety even when he travels through the 
Enemy's Country, for such is the vast field of 
Learning, where the Learned (though not numer- 
ous enough to be an Army) lie in small Parties, 
maliciously in Ambush, to destroy all New Men 
who look into their Quarters." 

It is doubtful, however, whether in these days 
a lover of Ignorance — or, if you prefer, an igno- 
rant lover of good things — could be safe in the 
enemy's country, even under the protection of 



168 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

such a Mr. Greatheart. It is no longer true 
that the Learned are not numerous enough to be 
an army and are content with guerrilla warfare ; 
on the contrary, they have increased to multi- 
tudes, and their well-disciplined forces hold all 
the strategic points. As for those who love to 
read and consider, rather than to enter into 
minute researches, it is as in the days of Sham- 
gar, the son of Anoth, when " the highways were 
unoccupied and the people walked through by- 
ways." 

There is one field, however, that the Gentle 
Reader will not give up without a struggle — it 
is that of history. He claims that it belongs to 
Literature as much as to Science. History and 
Story are variations of the same word, and the 
historian who is master of his art must be a story- 
teller. Clio was not a school-mistress, but a 
Muse, and the papyrus roll in her hand does not 
contain mere dates and statistics, it is filled with 
the record of heroic adventures. The primitive 
form of history was verbal tradition, as one 
generation told the story of the past to the 
generation that followed. 

"There was a great advantage in that method," 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 169 

says the Gentle Reader, "the irrelevant details 
dropped out. It is only the memorable things 
that can be remembered. What a pleasant invi- 
tation that was in the eighty-first psalm to the 
study of Hebrew History, in order to learn what 
had happened when Israel went out through the 
land of Egypt : — 

' Take up the psalm and bring hither the timbrel, 
The pleasant harp with the psaltery, 
Blow up the trumpet in the new moon, 
And the full moon on our solemn feast days.' 

" The Jews had a way of setting their history to 
music, and bringing in the great events as a glo- 
rious refrain, which they never feared repeating 
too often ; perhaps that is one reason why their 
history has lasted so long." 

The Gentle Header's liking for histories that 
might be read to the accompaniment of the 
" pleasant harp and psaltery," and which now 
and then stir him as with the sound of a trumpet, 
brings upon him many a severe rebuke. He is 
told that his favorite writers are frequently inac- 
curate and one-sided. The true historian, he is 
informed, is a prodigy of impartiality, who has 
divested himself of all human passions, in order 



170 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

that he may set down in exact sequence the 
course of events. The Gentle Reader turns to 
these highly praised volumes and finds himself 
adrift, without human companionship, on a bot- 
tomless sea of erudition, — writings, writings 
everywhere and not a page to read ! Returning 
from this perilous excursion, he ever after ad- 
heres to his original predilection for histories 
that are readable. 

He is of the opinion that a history must be 
essentially a work of the imagination. This does 
not mean that it must not be true, but it means 
that the important truth about any former gen- 
eration can only be reproduced through the im- 
agination. The important thing is that these 
people were once alive. No critical study of 
their meagre memorials can make us enter into 
their joys, their griefs, and their fears. The 
memorials only suggest to the historic imagina- 
tion what the reality must have been. 

Peter Bell could recognize a fact when he saw 
it: — 

" A primrose on the river's brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, 
And it was nothing more." 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 171 

As long as the primrose was there, he could be 
trusted to describe it accurately enough. But 
set Peter Bell the task of describing last year's 
primrose. " There are n't any last year's prim- 
roses on the river's brim," says Peter, " so you 
must be content with a description of the one in 
my herbarium. Last year's primroses, you will 
observe, are very much flattened out." To Mr. 
Peter Bell, after he has spent many years in the 
universities, a document is a document, and it is 
nothing more. When he has compared a great 
many documents, and put them together in a 
mechanical way, he calls his work a history. 
That 's where he differs from the Gentle Reader 
who calls it only the crude material out of which 
a man of genius may possibly make a history. 

To the Gentle Reader it is a profoundly inter- 
esting reflection that since this planet has been 
inhabited people have been fighting, and work- 
ing, and loving, and hating, with an intensity 
born of the conviction that, if they went at it 
hard enough, they could finish the whole busi- 
ness in one generation. He likes to get back 
into any one of these generations just " to get 
the feel of it." He does not care so much for 



172 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

the final summing up of the process, as to see it 
in the making. Any one who can give him that 
experience is his friend. 

He is interested in the stirring times of the 
English Revolution, and goes to the historical 
expert to find what it was all about. The his- 
torical expert starts with the Magna Charta and 
makes a preliminary survey. Then he begins 
his march down the centuries, intrenching every 
position lest he be caught unawares by the critics. 
His intellectual forces lack mobility, as they 
must wait for their baggage trains. At last he 
comes to the time of the Stuarts, and there is 
much talk of the royal prerogative, and ship 
money, and attainders, and acts of Parliament. 
There are exhaustive arguments, now on the one 
side and now on the other, which exactly balance 
one another. There are references to bulky vol- 
umes, where at the foot of every page the notes 
run along, like little angry dogs barking at the 
text. 

The Gentle Reader calls out : " I have had 
enough of this. What I want to know is what 
it 's all about, and which side, on the whole, has 
the right of it. Which side are you on ? Are you 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 173 

a Roundhead or a Cavalier ? Are your sympathies 
with the Whigs or the Tories ? " 

" Sympathies ! " says the expert. " Who ever 
heard of a historian allowing himself to sympa- 
thize ? I have no opinions of my own to present. 
My great aim is not to prejudice the mind of the 
student." 

"Nonsense," says the Gentle Reader; "I am 
not a student, nor is this a school-room. It 's all 
in confidence ; speak out as one gentleman to 
another under a friendly roof! What do you 
think about it ? No matter if you make a mis- 
take or two, I '11 forget most that you say, any- 
way. All that I care for is to get the gist of the 
matter. As for your fear of warping my mind, 
there 's not the least danger in the world. My 
mind is like a tough bit of hickory ; it will fly 
back into its original shape the moment you let 
go. I have a hundred prejudices of my own, — 
one more won't hurt me. I want to know what 
it was that set the people by the ears. Why did 
they cut off the head of Charles I., and why did 
they drive out James II. ? I can't help thinking 
that there must have been something more ex- 
citing than those discussions of yours about con- 



174 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

stitutional theories. Do you know, I sometimes 
doubt whether most of the people who went to 
the wars knew that there was such a thing as the 
English Constitution ; the subject had n't been 
written up then. I suspect that something hap- 
pened that was not set down in your book; 
something that made those people fighting mad." 

Then the Gentle Reader turns to his old and 
much criticised friend Macaulay, and asks, — 

" What do you think about it?" 

" Think about it ! " says Macaulay. " I '11 tell 
you what I think about it. To begin with, that 
Charles I., though good enough as a family man, 
was a consummate liar." 

" That 's the first light I 've had on the sub- 
ject," says the Gentle Reader. " Charles lied, 
and that made the people mad ? " 

" Precisely ! I perceive that you have the his- 
toric sense. We English can't abide a liar ; so 
at last when we could not trust the king's word 
we chopped off his head. Mind you, I 'm not 
defending the regicides, but between ourselves I 
don't mind saying that I think it served him 
right. At any rate our blood was up, and there 
was no stopping us. I wish I had time to tell 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 175 

you all about Hampden, and Pym, and Crom- 
well, but I must go on to the glorious year 1688, 
and tell you how it all came about, and how we 
sent that despicable dotard, James, flying across 
the Channel, and how we brought in the good 
and wise King William, and how the great line 
of Whig statesmen began. I take for granted — 
as you appear to be a sensible man — that you 
are a Whig ? " 

"I 'm open to conviction," says the Gentle 
Reader. 

In a little while he is in the very thick of it. 
He is an Englishman of the seventeenth century. 
He has taken sides and means to fight it out. He 
knows how to vote on every important question 
that comes before Parliament. No Jacobite soph- 
istry can beguile him. When William lands 
he throws up his hat, and after that he stands by 
him, thick or thin. When you tell him that he 
ought to be more dispassionate in his historical 
judgments, he answers : " That would be all very 
well if we were not dealing with living issues, — 
but with Ireland in an uproar and the Papists 
ready to swarm over from France, there is a call 
for decision. A man must know his own mind. 



176 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

You may stand off and criticise William's policy ; 
but the question is, What policy do you propose ? 
You say that I have not exhausted the subject, 
and that there are other points of view. Very 
likely. Show me another point of view, only 
make it as clear to me as Macaulay makes his. 
Let it be a real view, and not a smudge. Some 
other day I may look at it, but I must take one 
thing at a time. What I object to is the histo- 
rian who takes both sides in the same paragraph. 
That is what I call offensive bi-partisanship." 

The Gentle Reader is interested not only in 
what great men actually were, but in the way 
they appeared to those who loved or hated them. 
He is of the opinion that the legend is often more 
significant than the colorless annals. When a 
legend has become universally accepted and has 
lived a thousand years, he feels that it should be 
protected in its rights of possession by some 
statute of limitation. It has come to have an 
independent life of its own. He has, therefore, 
no sympathy with Gibbon in his identification of 
St. George of England with George of Cappa- 
docia, a dishonest army contractor who supplied 
the troops of the Emperor Julian with bacon. 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 177 

Says Gibbon : " His employment was mean ; he 
rendered it infamous. He accumulated wealth 
by the basest arts of fraud and corruption ; but 
his malversations were so notorious that George 
was compelled to escape from the pursuit of his 
enemies. . . . This odious stranger, disguising 
every circumstance of time and place, assumed 
the mask of a martyr, a saint, and a Christian 
hero ; and the infamous George of Cappadocia 
has been transformed into the renowned St. 
George of England, the patron of arms, of 
chivalry, and of the garter." 

" That is a serious indictment," says the Gentle 
Reader. " I have no plea to make for the Cap- 
padocian ; I can readily believe that his bacon 
was bad. But why not let bygones be bygones ? 
If he managed to transform himself into a saint, 
and for many centuries avoid all suspicion, I be- 
lieve that it was a thorough reformation. St. 
George of England has long been esteemed as a 
valiant gentleman, — and, at any rate, that affair 
with the dragon was greatly to his credit." 

Sometimes the Gentle Reader is disturbed by 
finding that different lines of tradition have been 
mixed, and his mind becomes the battleground 



178 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

whereon old blood feuds are fought out. Thus 
it happens that as a child he was brought up on 
the tales of the Covenanters and imbibed their 
stern resentment against their persecutors. He 
learned to hate the very name of Graham of 
Claverhouse who brought desolation upon so many 
innocent homes. On the other hand, his heart 
beats high when he hears the martial strains of 
Bonnie Dundee. " There was a man for you ! " 

" Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, 
The hells are rung backward, the drums they are heat. 

' Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks — 
Ere I own as usurper, I '11 couch with the fox ! 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me ! ' 

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown, 
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, 
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermeston's lee 
Died away the wild war notes of Bonnie Dundee." 

"When I see him wave his proud hand," says 
the Gentle Reader, " I am his clansman, and I 'm 
ready to be off with him." 

" I thought you were a Whig," says the stu- 
dent of history. 

" I thought so too, — but what 's politics where 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 179 

the affections are enlisted? Don't you hear 
those wild war notes ? " 

" But are you aware that the Bonnie Dundee 
is the same man whom you have just been de- 
nouncing under the name of Graham of Claver- 
house ? " 

" Are you sure they are the same ? " sighs the 
Gentle Reader. " I cannot make them seem the 
same. To me there are two of them : Graham 
of Claverhouse, whom I hate, and the Bonnie 
Dundee, whom I love. If it 's all the same to 
you, I think I shall keep them separate and go 
on loving and hating as aforetime." 

But though the Gentle Reader has the defects 
of his qualities and is sometimes led astray by his 
sympathies, do not think that he is altogether 
lacking in solidity of judgment. He has a genu- 
ine love of truth and finds it more interesting 
than fiction — when it is well written. If he 
objects to the elimination of myth and fable it is 
because he is profoundly interested in the history 
of human feeling. The story that is the embodi- 
ment of an emotion is itself of the greatest sig- 
nificance. In Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, 



180 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

before Jupiter himself is revealed, the Phantasm 

of Jupiter appears and speaks. Prometheus 

addresses him : — 

" Tremendous Image, as thou art must be 
He whom thou shadowest forth." 

On the stage of history each great personage has 
a phantasmal counterpart; sometimes there are 
many of them. Each phantasm becomes a centre 
of love and hate. 

The cold-blooded historian gives us what he 
calls the real Napoleon. He is, he asserts, nei- 
ther the Corsican Ogre of the British imagina- 
tion nor the Heroic Emperor for whom myriads 
of Frenchmen gladly died. Perhaps not; but 
when the Napoleonic legend has been banished, 
what about the Napoleonic wars? The Phan- 
tasms of Napoleon appear on every battlefield. 
The men of that day saw them, and were nerved 
to the conflict. The reader must, now and then, 
see them, or he can have no conception of what 
was going on. He misses " the moving why they 
did it." And as for the real Napoleon, what was 
the magic by which he was able to call such 
phantasms from the vasty deep ? 

The careful historian who would trace the his- 



THAT HISTOKY SHOULD BE READABLE 181 

tory of Europe in the centuries that followed the 
barbarian invasion is sorely troubled by the in- 
trusion of legendary elements. After purging 
his work of all that savors of romance, he has a 
very neat and connected narrative. 

" But is it true ? " asks the Gentle Reader. " I 
for one do not believe it. The course of true 
history never did run so smooth. Here is a 
worthy person who undertakes to furnish me 
with an idea of the Dark Ages, and he forgets 
the principal fact, which is that it was dark. 
His picture has all the sharp outlines of a noon- 
day street scene. I don't believe he ever spent 
a night alone in a haunted house. If he had he 
would have known that if you don't see ghosts, 
you see shapes that look like them. At midnight 
mysterious forms loom large. The historian 
must have a genius for depicting Chaos. He 
must make me dimly perceive ' the fragments of 
forgotten peoples,' with their superstitions, their 
formless fears, their vague desires. They were 
all fighting them in the dark. 

" ' For friend and foe were shadows in the mist, 

And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew ; 
And some had visions out of golden youth, 



182 THAT HISTOEY SHOULD BE READABLE 

And some beheld the faces of old ghosts 

Look in upon the battle ; and in the mist 

Was many a noble deed, and many a base 

And chance and craft and strength in single fights, 

And ever and anon with host to host 

Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn r 

Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash 

Of battle axes on shattered helms, and shrieks 

After the Christ, of those who falling down 

Looked up for heaven and only saw the mist.' " 

" But, Gentle Reader," says the Historian, 
" that is poetry, not history." 

" Perhaps it is, but it 's what really happened." 

He is of the opinion that many histories owe 
their quality of unreadableness to the virtues of 
their authors. The kind-hearted historians over- 
load their works through their desire to rescue as 
many events and persons as possible from obliv- 
ion. When their better judgment tells them 
that they should be off, they remain to drag in 
one more. Alas, their good intention defeats 
itself ; their frail craft cannot bear the added 
burden, and all hands go to the bottom. There 
is no surer oblivion than that which awaits one 
whose name is recorded in a book that undertakes 
to tell all. 



THAT HISTOKY SHOULD BE EEADABLE 183 

The trouble with facts is that there are so many 
of them. Here are millions of happenings every- 
day. Each one has its infinite series of antecedents 
and consequents ; and each takes longer in the 
telling than in the doing. Evidently there must 
be some principle of selection. Naturalists with 
a taste for mathematics tell us of the appalling 
catastrophe which would impend if every codfish 
were to reach maturity. It would be equaled by 
the state of things which would exist were every 
incident duly chronicled. A foretaste of this 
calamity has been given in our recent war, — and 
yet there were some of our military men who did 
not write reminiscences. 

What the principle of selection shall be depends 
upon the predominant interest of the writer. 
But there must be a clear sequence ; one can re- 
late only what is related to the chosen theme. 
The historian must reverse the order of natural 
evolution and proceed from the heterogeneous to 
the homogeneous. Alas for the ill-fated pundit 
who, forgetting his aim, flounders in the bottom- 
less morass of heterogeneity. The moment he 
begins to tell how things are he remembers some 
incongruous incident which proves that they were 



184 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

quite otherwise. The genius for narrative con- 
sists in the ability to pick out the facts which 
belong together and which help each other along. 
The company must keep step, and the stragglers 
must be mercilessly cut off. One cannot say of 
any fact that it is important in itself. The im- 
portant thing is that which has a direct bearing 
on the subject. The definition of dirt as matter 
in the wrong place is suggestive. All the details 
that throw light on the main action are of value. 
Those that obscure it are but petty dust. It is 
no sufficient plea that the dust is very real and 
that it took a great deal of trouble to collect 
it. 

As vivid a bit of history as one may read is the 
Journal of Sally Wister, a Quaker girl who lived 
near Philadelphia during the period of the Ameri- 
can Revolution. She gives a narrative of the 
things which happened to her during those fate- 
ful years. In October, 1777, she says, " Here, my 
dear, passes an interval of several weeks in which 
nothing happened worth the time and paper it 
would take to write it." 

The editor is troubled at this remark, because 
during that very week the Battle of Germantown 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 185 

had been fought not far away. But Sally Wister 
had the true historical genius. The Battle of 
Germantown was an event, and so was the coming 
of a number of gay young officers to the hospitable 
country house ; and this latter event was much 
more important to Sally Wister. So omitting all 
irrelevant incidents, she gives a circumstantial 
account of what was happening on the centre of 
the stage. 

" Cousin Prissa and myself were sitting at the 
door; I in my green skirt, dark gown, etc. Two 
genteel men of the military order rode up to the 
door. ' Your servant, ladies,' etc. Asked if they 
could have quarters for General Small wood." 

" I can see just how they did it," says the 
Gentle Reader, "and what a commotion the 
visit made. Now when a person who is just as 
much absorbed in the progress of the Revolution- 
ary War as Sally Wister was in those young 
officers writes about it I will read his history 
gladly. " 

Some otherwise excellent histories fall into the 
abyss of unreadableness because of the author's 
unnecessary pains to justify his heroes to the 



186 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

critical intelligence of the reader. He is con- 
tinually making apologies when he should be tell- 
ing a story. He is comparing the deeds of one 
age with the ethical standards of another ; and 
the result is a series of moral anachronisms. 
There is a running fire of more or less irrelevant 
comment. 

What a delightful plan that was, which the 
author of the Book of Judges hit upon to 
avoid this difficulty ! He had a hard task. His 
worthies were not persons of settled habits, and 
they did many things that might appear shocking 
to later generations. They were called upon to 
do rough work and they did it in their own way. 
If the author had undertaken to justify their con- 
duct by any conventional standard he would have 
made sorry work of it. What he did was much 
better than that. Whenever he came to a point 
where there was danger of the mind of the reader 
becoming turbid with moral reflections that be- 
longed to a later age, he threw in the clarifying 
suggestion. "And there was no King in Israel, 
and every man did what was right in his own 
eyes." This precipitated all the disturbing ele- 
ments, and the story ran on swift and clear. It 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 187 

was as if when the reader was about to protest the 
author anticipated him with, " What would you 
do, reader, if the Philistines were upon you and 
there were no King in Israel ? " Undoubtedly 
under such circumstances it would be a great 
relief to catch sight of Gideon or Samson. It 
would not be a time for fastidiousness about 
their shortcomings ; they would be hailed as 
strong deliverers. 

" That is just the point of it," cries the Gentle 
Reader. " They were on our side. The important 
thing is to recognize our friends. To teach us 
who our friends are is the purpose of history. 
Here is a conflict that has been going on for 
ages. The men who have done valiant service 
are not all smooth-spoken gentlemen in black 
coats — but what of it ? They have done what 
they could. We can't say that each act was 
absolutely right, but they were moving in the 
right direction. When a choice was offered they 
took the better part. The historian should not 
only know what they did, but what was the alter- 
native offered them. There was the Prophet 
Samuel. Some persons will have no further 
respect for him after they learn that he hewed 



188 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

Agag in pieces before the Lord. They think he 
ought to have stood up for Free Religion. They 
take for granted that the alternative offered him 
was religious toleration as we understand it. It 
was nothing of the sort. The question for a man 
of that age was, Shall Samuel hew Agag in pieces, 
or shall Agag hew Samuel in pieces, and my 
sympathies are with Samuel." 

Having once made allowance for the differ- 
ences of time and place, he follows with eager 
interest the fortunes of the men who have made 
the world what it is. What if they do have their 
faults ? He does not care for what he calls New 
England Primer style of History : — 

" Young Obadias, David, Josias 
All were pious." 

Such monotony of excellence wearies him, and 
the garment of praise is accompanied by a spirit 
of heaviness. 

" I like saints best in the state of nature," he 
says ; " the process of canonization does not seem 
good for them. When too many of them are 
placed together in a book their virtues kill one 
another, and at a little distance all halos look 
very much alike." 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 189 

There are certain histories which he finds read- 
able, not because he cares very much for their 
ostensible subject, but because of the light they 
throw on the author's personality. He, good 
man, thinks he is telling the story of the Carlo- 
vingian Dynasty, or the rise of the Phoenician sea 
power, while in reality he is giving an intimate 
account of his own state of mind. The author is 
like a bee which wanders far afield and visits 
many flowers, but always brings back the spoil 
to one hollow tree. The Gentle Reader, like a 
practiced bee hunter, is careless of the outward 
journeys, but watches closely the direction of the 
return flight. . 

"If you would know a person's limitations," he 
says, " induce him to write on some large subject 
like the History of Civilization, or the History of 
the Origin and Growth of the Moral Sentiment. 
You will find his particular hobby writ large." 

He takes up a History of the Semites. " What 
a pertinacious fellow he is," alluding not to any 
ancient Semite but to the Author, " how closely 
he sticks to his point ! He has discovered a new 
fact about the Amalekites, — I wonder what he 
will do with it. Just as I expected ! there he is 



190 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

back with it to that controversy he is having with 
his Presbytery. I notice that he calls the chil- 
dren of Israel the Beni-Israel. He knows that 
that sort of thing irritates the conservative party. 
It suggests that he is following Eenan, and yet it 
may only prove that he thinks in Hebrew." 

The Gentle Reader regards ambitious works 
on the Philosophy of History with mingled sus- 
picion and curiosity. So much depends, in such 
cases, upon the philosopher. In spite of many 
misadventures, curiosity generally gets the better 
of caution. 

He opens Comte's " Positive Philosophy " and 
reads, " In order to understand the true value 
and character of the ' Positive Philosophy ' we 
must take a brief, general view of the progres- 
sive course of the human mind regarded as a 
whole." Then he is conducted through the three 
stages of the theological or fictitious, the meta- 
physical or abstract, and the scientific or posi- 
tive ; which last circle proves large enough only 
for Comte's own opinions. He is caught in a 
trap and goes round and round without finding 
the hole through which he came in. 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 191 

" When a learned person asks one," says the 
Gentle Reader, "to accompany him on a brief 
general survey of the progressive course of the 
human mind, regarded as a whole, I am apt to 
be wary. I want to know what he is up to. I 
fear the philosopher bearing historical gifts." 

Yet where the trap is made of slighter fabric, 
and he feels that he can break through at will, he 
enjoys watching the author and his work. How 
marvelous are the powers of the human mind ! 
How the facts of experience can be bent to a 
sternly logical formula ! And how the whole 
trend of things seems to yield to an imperious 
will that is stronger than fate ! 

Here is a book published in Wheeling, Virginia, 
in 1809. It is " A Narrative of the Introduction 
and Progress of Christianity in Scotland, before 
the Reformation ; and the Progress of Religion 
since in Scotland and America." We are told 
that the history was read paragraph by paragraph 
at a meeting of the Reformed Dissenting Pres- 
bytery at the Three Ridge Meeting House, and 
unanimously approved. At the beginning we are 
taken into a wide place and given a comprehen- 
sive view of early Christianity. Then we are 



192 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

shown how in the sixteenth century began a series 
of godly reformations. Christianity, bursting 
through the barriers of Popery, began its resistless 
flow toward the pure theology of the Three Ridge 
Meeting House. As the articles of the true faith 
were increased the number of persons who were 
able to hold correct opinions upon them all dimin- 
ished. The history, by perfectly logical pro- 
cesses, brings us down to the year 1799, when 
secession had done its perfect work and the true 
church had attained to an apostolic purity of doc- 
trine and a more than apostolic paucity of mem- 
bership. It is with a fearful joy that the 
historians proclaim the culmination of the age- 
long evolution. "O! the times we live in! There 
were but two of us to defend the doctrine of the 
Bible and the Westminster Confession." At the 
time the history of the Progress of Christianity 
was written there were but two ministers who held 
the uncorrupted faith ; namely, Robert Warwick 
and Alexander McCoy. These two brethren were 
the joint authors of the history, and in their 
capacity as church council gave it ecumenical 
authority. Had McCoy disagreed with Warwick 
about Pretention, or had Warwick suspected 



THAT HISTOKY SHOULD BE READABLE 193 

McCoy of Sublapsarianism, then we should have 
had two histories of Christianity instead of one. 
It would have appeared that all the previous de- 
velopments of Christianity were significant only 
as preparing for the Great Schism. 

" There is a great deal of this Three Ridge 
Meeting House kind of history," says the Gentle 
Reader, " and I confess I find it very instructive. 
I like to find out what the writers think on the 
questions of the day." 

The fact is that there is a great deal of human 
nature even in learned people, and they cannot 
escape from the spell of the present moment. 
They are like the rest of us, and feel that they are 
living at the terminus of the road and not at a 
way station. The cynical reflection on the way 
in which the decisions of the Supreme Court fol- 
low the election returns suggests the way in which 
historical generalizations follow the latest tele- 
graphic dispatches. Something happens and then 
we look up its historical antecedents. It seems 
as if everything had been pointing to this one 
event from the beginning. 

"Here is a very readable History of Fans. 
The writer justly says that the subject is one that 



194 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

has been much neglected. 'In England brief 
sketches on the subject have occasionally ap- 
peared in the magazines, but thus far a History 
of Fans has not been published in book form. 
. . . The subject amply repays careful study, and 
will not fail to interest the reader, provided the 
demands on both his patience and his time are 
' not too great.' I confess that it is a line of re- 
search I have never taken up, but it is evident 
that there is ample material. The beginning in- 
spires confidence. ' The chain of tradition, fol- 
lowed as far as possible into the past, carries us 
but to the time when the origin of the fan is de- 
rived from tradition.' It appears that we come 
out upon firm ground when we reach the Maha- 
bharata. But the question which arouses my 
curiosity is, How did it occur to any one that 
there should be a history of fans ? The author 
reveals the inciting cause, — ' The Loan Exhibi- 
tion held at South Kensington in 1870 gave a 
great impulse to the collection and decoration of 
fans.' I suspect that almost all readable histories 
have some such origin." 

The title of Professor Freeman's " History of 
Federal Government from the Foundation of the 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 195 

Acliaian League to the Disruption of the United 
States " was timely when the first volume was 
published in 1863. The terminal points seemed 
closely connected in 1862 and the spring of 1863. 
Gettysburg and Appomattox destroyed the line 
of communication. But there was a time when 
the subject had great dramatic unity. 

One May morning the Gentle Reader saw in 
the newspapers the account of the victory of 
Admiral Dewey at Manila, and learned how the 
English people rejoiced over the success of 
American arms. " This will remake a great deal 
of history," he said, " and there will be a great 
revival of interest in Hengist and Horsa. These 
primitive Anglo-Saxon expansionists kept their 
own counsel, but it 's evident that the movement 
they set on foot must go on to its logical conclu- 
sion. When a competent scholar takes hold of 
the history it will be seen that it could n't stop 
with the Heptarchy or the destruction of the Span- 
ish Armada. It was a foregone conclusion that 
these Anglo-Saxons would eventually take the 
Philippines." 

When one by one the books began to come out 
he read them with eager interest. That there 



196 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 

should be histories of the triumphant progress of 
Anglo-Saxondom, after the Spanish-American 
war, he looked upon as something as inevitable 
as the history of fans, after the South Kensington 
Exhibition. It was manifest destiny. 

There is one page in the history books which 
the Gentle Reader looks upon with a skeptical 
smile ; it is that which contains the words, " The 
End." 

" The writer may think that the subject has 
been exhausted, and that he has said the last 
word ; but in reality there is no end." 

He is well aware that at best he gets but a 
glimpse of what is going on. The makers of 
history are for the most part unknown to the 
writers of it. He loves now and then to catch 
sight of one of these unremembered multitudes. 
For a moment the searchlight of history falls 
upon him, and he stands blinking in the unaccus- 
tomed glare, and then the light shifts and obliv- 
ion swallows him up. 

He stops to meditate when he comes upon this 
paragraph in Bishop Burnet's " History of his 
Own Times." 



THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE READABLE 197 

" When King James I. was in Scotland he 
erected a new Bishopric, and made one Forbes 
Bishop. He was a very learned and pious man ; 
he had a strange faculty of preaching five or six 
hours at a time. His way of life and devotion 
was thought monastic, and his learning lay in 
antiquity ; he studied to be a reconciler between 
Papists and Protestants, leaning rather to the first; 
he was a simple-hearted man and knew little of 
the world, so he fell into several errors of conduct, 
but died soon after suspected of Popery." 

" That man Forbes," says the Gentle Reader, 
" does n't cut much of a figure on the pages of 
history. Indeed, that is all that is said of him, yet 
I doubt not but that he was a much more influen- 
tial man in his day than many of those bishops 
and reformers that I have been reading about. 
A learned man who has a faculty for preaching 
five or six hours at a time is a great conservative 
force. He keeps things from going too fast. 
When one reads about the Reformation of the 
sixteenth century, one wonders that it didn't 
make a clean sweep. We must remember the 
number of good Protestants who died suspected 
of Popery." 



198 THAT HISTORY SHOULD BE EEADABLE 

But though he loves to get a glimpse of Forbes 
and men of his kind, he knows that they are not 
of the stuff that readable histories are made of. 
The retarding influences of the times must be 
taken into account, but after all the historian is 
concerned with the people who are " in the van 
of circumstance." They may be few in number, 
but their achievements are the things worth tell- 
ing. 

" Every history," says the Gentle Reader, 
" should be a Book of Genesis. I want to see 
things in their beginnings and in their fresh 
growth. I do not care to follow the processes of 
decay. Fortunately there is no period when 
something is not beginning. ' Sweet is the gene- 
sis of things.' History is a perpetual spring- 
time. New movements are always on foot. Even 
when I don't approve of them I want to know 
what they are like. When the band strikes up 
' See the Conquering Hero come,' it 's sheer affec- 
tation not to look up. The conquering hero is 
always worth looking at, even if you do not 
approve of him. The historian who undertakes 
to tell what men at any period were about must 
be quick to detect their real enthusiasms. He 



THAT HISTOEY SHOULD BE READABLE 199 

must join the victorious army and not cling to a 
lost cause. I have always thought that it was a 
mistake for Gibbon to call his great work, ' The 
History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire.' The declining power of the Roman 
Empire was not the great fact of those ten cen- 
turies. There were powers which were not de- 
clining, but growing. How many things were in 
the making, — Christianity, Mohammedanism, the 
new chivalry, the Germanic civilization. As for 
the Roman Empire, one could see that that game 
was lost, and it was n't worth while to play it out 
to the last move. I could n't make those shadowy 
Emperors at Constantinople seem like Csesars — 
and, for that matter, they were n't." 

On this last point I think that the Gentle 
Reader is correct, and that the great historian is 
one who has a certain prophetic gift. He is 
quick to discern the signs of the times. He 
identifies himself so thoroughly with the age of 
which he writes that he always seems to be at 
the beginning of an era peering into the yet dim 
future. In this way he shares the hopes and 
aspirations of the men of whom he writes. For 
there was a day when all our familiar institu- 



200 THAT HISTOEY SHOULD BE EEADABLE 

tions were new. There was a time when the 
Papacy was not an established fact, but a vague 
dream of spiritual power and unity, a challenge 
to a barbarian world. It appealed to young 
idealists as the federation of the world or a 
socialistic commonwealth appeals to-day. There 
was a time when constitutional government was 
a Utopian experiment which a few brave men 
were willing to try. There was a time when 
Calvinism was a spiritual adventure. 

The historian whom we love is one who stands 
at the parting of the ways, and sees ideals grow 
into actualities. He is not reminiscent. He is 
forward-looking as he speaks to each age out of 
intimate acquaintance with its new hopes, as one 

" Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones 
For prophecies of thee, and for the sake 
Of loveliness new born." 



mmtkmm 



_r--a*Ci»X9'»~- 



" ^^jtHAT is your favorite character, Gentle 

<%P Eeader ? " "I like to read about gen- 
tlemen," he answers ; " it 's a taste I have inher- 
ited, and I find it growing upon me." 

And yet it is not easy to define a gentleman, as 
the multitudes who have made the attempt can 
testify. It is one of the cases in which the diction- 
ary does not help one. Perhaps, after all, defi- 
nitions are to be looked upon as luxuries, not as 
necessities. When Alice told her name to Humpty 
Dumpty, that intolerable pedant asked, — 

" ' What does it mean ? ' 

" ' Must a name mean something ? ' Alice 
asked doubtfully. 

" ' Of course it must,' Humpty Dumpty said 



202 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

with a short laugh. ' My name means the shape 
I am, — and a good handsome shape it is, too.' " 

I suppose that almost any man, if he were asked 
what a gentleman is, would answer with Humpty 
Dumpty, " It is the shape I am." I judge this 
because, though the average man would not feel 
insulted if you were to say, " You are no saint," 
it would not be safe to say, " You are no gentle- 
man." 

And yet the average man has his misgivings. 
For all his confident talk, he is very humble 
minded. The astral body of the gentleman that 
he is endeavoring to project at his neighbors is 
not sufficiently materialized for his own imperfect 
vision. The word " gentleman " represents an 
ideal. Above whatever coarseness and sordid- 
ness there may be in actual life, there rises the 
ideal of a finer kind of man, with gentler man- 
ners and truer speech and braver action. 

In every age we shall find the true gentleman 
— that is, the man who represents the best ideal 
of his own time, and we shall find the mimicry 
of him the would-be gentleman who copies the 
form while ignorant of the substance. These 
two characters furnish the material, on the one 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 203 

hand for the romancer, and on the other for the 
satirist. If there had been no real gentlemen, 
the epics, the solemn tragedies, and the stirring 
tales of chivalry would have remained unwritten ; 
and if there had been no pretended gentlemen, 
the humorist would have lost many a pleasure. 
Always the contrasted characters are on the stage 
together ; simple dignity is followed by strutting 
pomposity, and after the hero the braggart swag- 
gers and storms. So ridicule and admiration 
bear rule by turns. 

The idea of the gentleman involves the sense of 
personal dignity and worth. He is not a means 
to an end ; he is an end in itself. How early 
this sense arose we may not know. Professor 
Huxley made merry over the sentimentalists who 
picture the simple dignity of primitive man. He 
had no admiration to throw away on " the digni- 
fied and unclothed savage sitting in solitary medi- 
tation under trees." And yet I am inclined to 
think that the gentleman must have appeared 
even before the advent of tailors. The peasants 
who followed Wat Tyler sang, — 

" When Adam delved and Eve span 
Who was then the gentleman ? " 



204 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

But a writer in the age of Queen Elizabeth pub- 
lished a book in which he argued that Adam 
himself was a perfect gentleman. He had the 
advantage, dear to the theological mind, that 
though affirmative proof might be lacking, it was 
equally difficult to prove the negative. 

As civilization advances and literature catches 
its changing features, the outlines of the gentle- 
man grow distinct. 

In the Book of Genesis we see Abraham sitting 
at his tent door. Three strangers appear. When 
he sees them, he goes to meet them, and bows, 
and says to the foremost, " My Lord, if now I 
have found favour in thy sight, pass not away, I 
pray thee, from thy servant. Let a little water, 
I pray you, be fetched, and wash your feet, and 
rest yourselves under the tree : and I will fetch 
a morsel of bread, and comfort ye your hearts ; 
after that ye shall pass on." 

There may have been giants in those days, and 
churls, and all manner of barbarians, but as we 
watch the strangers resting under the oak we say, 
"There were also gentlemen in those days." How 
simple it all is ! It is like a single palm tree out- 
lined against the desert and the sky. 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 205 

We turn to the Analects of Confucius and we 
see the Chinese gentleman. Everything with him 
is exact. The disciples of Confucius are careful 
to tell us how he adjusted the skirts of his robe 
before and behind, how he insisted that his 
mince-meat should be cut quite small and should 
have exactly the right proportion of rice, and 
that his mat must be laid straight before he 
would sit on it. Such details of deportment 
were thought very important. But we forget 
the mats and the mince-meat when we read : 
" Three things the master had not, — he had no 
prejudices, he had no obstinacy, he had no 
egotism." And we forget the fantastic garb 
and the stiff Chinese genuflections, and come to 
the conclusion that the true gentleman is as sim- 
ple-hearted amid the etiquette of the court as in 
the tent in the desert, when we hear the master 
saying : " Sincerity is the way of Heaven ; the 
wise are the unassuming. It is said of Virtue 
that over her embroidered robe she puts a plain 
single garment." 

When we wish to see a masculine virtue which 
has no need of an embroidered garment we go to 
Plutarch's portrait gallery of antique gentlemen. 



206 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

What a breed of men they were ! They were no 
holiday gentlemen. With the same lofty dignity 
they faced life and death. How superior they 
were to their fortunes. No wonder that men who 
had learned to conquer themselves conquered the 
world. 

Most of Plutarch's worthies were gentlemen, 
though there were exceptions. There was, for 
example, Cato the Censor, who bullied the Roman 
youth into virtue, and got a statue erected to him- 
self as the restorer of the good old manners. 
Poor Plutarch, who likes to do well by his heroes, 
is put to his wits' end to know what to do with 
testy, patriotic, honest, fearless, parsimonious 
Cato. Cato was undoubtedly a great man and a 
good citizen ; but when we are told how he sold 
his old slaves, at a bargain, when they became in- 
firm, and how he left his war-horse in Spain to 
save the cost of transportation, Plutarch adds, 
" Whether such things be an evidence of great- 
ness or littleness of soul let the reader judge for 
himself." The judicious reader will conclude 
that it is possible to be a great man and a re- 
former, and yet not be quite a gentleman. 

When the Roman Empire was destroyed the 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 207 

antique type of gentleman perished. The very- 
names of the tribes which destroyed him have yet 
terrible associations. Goths, Vandals, Huns — to 
the civilized man of the fifth and sixth centuries 
these sounded like the names of wild beasts rather 
than of men. You might as well have said tigers, 
hyenas, wolves. The end had come of a civiliza- 
tion that had been the slow growth of centuries. 
Yet out of these fierce tribes, destroyers of the 
old order, a new order was to arise. Out of chaos 
and night a new kind of gentleman was to be 
evolved. The romances of the Middle Ages are 
variations on a single theme, the appearance of 
the finer type of manhood and its struggle for 
existence. In the palace built by the enchant- 
ment of Merlin were four zones of sculpture. 

" And in the lowest beasts are slaying men, 
And in the second men are slaying beasts, 
And on the third are warriors, perfect men, 
And on the fourth are men with growing wings." 

Europe was in the second stage, when men were 
slaying beasts and what was most brutal in hu- 
manity. If the higher manhood was to live, it 
must fight, and so the gentleman appears, sword 
in hand. Whether we are reading of Charle- 



208 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

magne and his paladins, or of Siegfried, or of 

Arthur, the story is the same. The gentleman 

has appeared. He has come into a waste land, 

" Thick with wet woods and many a beast therein, 
And none or few to scare or chase the beast." 

He comes amid savage anarchy where heathen 
hordes are " reddening the sun with smoke and 
earth with blood." The gentleman sends forth 
his clear defiance. All this shall no longer be. 
He is ready to meet force with force ; he is ready 
to stake his life upon the issue, the hazard of new 
fortunes for the race. 

It is as a pioneer of the new civilization that 
the gentleman has pitched 

" His tent beside the forest. And he drave 
The heathen, and he slew the beast, and felled 
The forest, and let in the sun." 

The ballads and romances chronicle a struggle 
desperate in its beginning and triumphant in its 
conclusion. They are in praise of force, but it 
is a noble force. There is something better, they 
say, than brute force : it is manly force. The 
giant is no match for the gentleman. 

If we would get at the mediaeval idea of the 
gentleman, we must not listen merely to the 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 209 

romances as they are retold by men of genius in 
our own day. Scott and Tennyson clothe their 
characters in the old draperies, but their ideals 
are those of the nineteenth century rather than of 
the Middle Ages. Tennyson expressly disclaims 
the attempt to reproduce the King Arthur 

" whose name, a ghost, 
Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak, 
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still ; or him 
Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's, one 
Touched by the adulterous finger of a time 
That hovered between war and wantonness." 

When we go back and read Sir Thomas Malory's 
Morte Darthur, we find ourselves among men of 
somewhat different mould from the knights of 
Tennyson's idylls. It is not the blameless King 
Arthur, but the passionate Sir Launcelot, who 
wins admiration. We hear Sir Ector crying over 
Launcelot's body, " Ah, Launcelot, thou wert the 
head of the Christian knights. Thou wert the 
courtliest knight that ever bare shield ; and thou 
wert the truest friend to thy lover that ever be- 
strode horse ; and thou wert the truest lover for 
a sinful man that ever loved woman ; and thou 
wert the kindest man that ever strake with sword ; 
and thou wert the goodliest person that ever came 



210 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

among press of knights ; and thou wert the meek- 
est man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall with 
ladies ; and thou wert the sternest knight to thy 
mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest." 

"We must take, not one of these qualities, but 
all of them together, to understand the gentleman 
of those ages when good and evil struggled so 
fiercely for the mastery. No saint was this Sir 
Launcelot. There was in him no fine balance of 
virtues, but only a wild tumult of the blood. He 
was proud, self-willed, passionate, pleasure-loving ; 
capable of great sin and of sublime expiation. 
What shall we say of this gentlest, sternest, kind- 
est, goodliest, sinf ulest, of knights, — this man 
who knew no middle path, but who, when tread- 
ing in perilous places and following false lights, 
yet draws all men admiringly to himself ? 

We can only say this : he was the prototype of 
those mighty men who were the makers of the 
modern world. They were the men who fought 
with Charlemagne, and with William the Con- 
queror, and with Richard ; they were the men 
who " beat down the heathen, and upheld the 
Christ ; " they were the men from whom came 
the crusades, and the feudal system, and the 



THE EVOLUTION^ OF THE GENTLEMAN 211 

great charter. As we read tlie history, we say 
at one moment, " These men were mail-clad 
ruffians," and at the next, " What great-hearted 
gentlemen ! " 

Perhaps the wisest thing would be to confess 
to both judgments at once. In this stage of his 
evolution the gentleman may boast of feats that 
would now be rehearsed only in bar-rooms. This 
indicates that the standard of society has im- 
proved, and that what was possible once for the 
nobler sort of men is now characteristic of the 
baser sort. The modern rowdy frequently ap- 
pears in the cast-off manners of the old-time 
gentleman. Time, the old-clothes man, thus fur- 
nishes his customers with many strange misfits. 
What is of importance is that through these 
transition years there was a ceaseless struggle to 
preserve the finer types of manhood. 

The ideal of the mediaeval gentleman was 
expressed in the word " gallantry." The essence 
of gallantry is courage ; but it is not the sober 
courage of the stoic. It is courage charged with 
qualities that give it sparkle and effervescence. 
It is the courage that not only faces danger, but 
delights in it. What suggestions of physical and 



212 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

mental elasticity are in Shakespeare's description 
of the " springing, brave Plantagenet " ! Scott's 
lines express the gallant spirit : — 

" One crowded hour of glorious life 
Is worth an age without a name." 

Gallantry came to have another implication, 
equally characteristic. The knight was gallant 
not only in war, but in love also. There had 
come a new worship, the worship of woman. In 
the Church it found expression in the adoration 
of the Madonna, but in the camp and the court 
it found its place as well. Chivalry was the 
elaborate and often fantastic ritual, and the gen- 
tleman was minister at the altar. The ancient 
gentleman stood alone ; the mediaeval gentleman 
offered all to the lady of his love. Here, too, 
gallantry implied the same overflowing joy in 
life. If you are anxious to have a test by which 
to recognize the time when you are growing 
old, — so old that imagination is chilled within 
you, — I should advise you to turn to the chapter 
in the Romance of King Arthur entitled " How 
Queen Guenever went maying with certain 
Knights of the Table Hound, clad all in green." 
Then read : " So it befell in the month of May, 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 213 

Queen Guenever called unto her knights and she 
gave them warning that early upon the morrow 
she would ride maying into the woods and fields 
besides Westminster, and I warn you that none 
of you but that he be well horsed and that ye all 
be clothed in green. ... I shall bring with me 
ten ladies and every knight shall have a squire 
and two yeomen. So upon the morn they took 
their horses with the Queen and rode on maying 
through the woods and meadows in great joy and 
delights." 

If you cannot see them riding on, a gallant 
company over the meadows, and if you hear no 
echoes of their laughter, and if there is no longer 
any enchantment in the vision of that time when 
all were "blithe and debonair," then undoubtedly 
you are growing old. It is time to close the ro- 
mances: perhaps you may still find solace in 
Young's " Night Thoughts " or Pollok's " Course 
of Time." Happy are they who far into the sev- 
enties still see Queen Guenever riding in the plea- 
sant month of May : these are they who have 
found the true fountain of youth. 

The gentleman militant will always be the hero 
of ballads and romances ; and in spite of the 



214 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

apostles of realism, I fancy he has not lost his 
charm. There are Jeremiahs of evolution, who 
tell us that after a time men will be so highly- 
developed as to have neither hair nor teeth. In 
that day, when the operating dentists have ceased 
from troubling, and given way to the manufac- 
turing dentists, and the barbers have been super- 
seded by the wig-makers, it is quite possible that 
the romances may give place to some tedious 
department of comparative mythology. In that 
day, Chaucer's knight who " loved chevalrie, 
trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie," will 
be forgotten, though his armor on the museum 
walls will be learnedly described. But that 
dreadful day is still far distant ; before it comes, 
not only teeth and hair must be improved out of 
existence, but a substitute must be found for 
good red blood. Till that time " no laggard in 
love or dastard in war " can steal our hearts from 
young Lochinvar. 

The sixteenth century marks an epoch in the 
history of the gentleman, as in all else. Old 
ideas disappear, to come again in new combina- 
tions. Familiar words take on meanings that 
completely transform them. The same hands 



THE EVOLUTION OF. THE GENTLEMAN 215 

wielded the sword and the pen. The scholars, 
the artists, the poets, began to feel a sense of 
personal worth, and carried the gallant spirit of 
the gentleman into their work. They were not 
mere specialists, but men of action. The artist 
was not only an instrument to give pleasure to 
others, but he was himself a centre of admira- 
tion. Out of this new consciousness how many 
interesting characters were produced ! There 
were men who engaged in controversies as if 
they were tournaments, and who wrote books 
and painted pictures and carved statues, not in 
the spirit of professionalism, but as those who 
would in this activity enjoy " one crowded hour 
of glorious life." Very frequently, these gentle- 
men and scholars, and gentlemen and artists, 
overdid the matter, and were more belligerent in 
disposition than were the warriors with whom 
they began to claim equality. 

To this self-assertion we owe the most delightful 
of autobiographies, — that of Benvenuto Cellini. 
He aspired to be not only an artist, but a fine 
gentleman. No one could be more certain of the 
sufficiency of Humpty Dumpty's definition of a 
gentleman than was he. 



216 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

If we did not have his word for it, we could 
scarcely believe that any one could be so valiant 
in fight and so uninterrupted in the pursuit of 
honor without its interfering' with his professional 
work. Take, for example, that memorable day 
when, escaping from the magistrates, he makes 
an attack upon the household of his enemy, 
Gherardo Guascanti. " I found them at table ; 
and Gherardo, who had been the cause of the 
quarrel, flung himself upon me. I stabbed him 
in the breast, piercing doublet and jerkin, but 
doing him not the least harm in the world." 
After this attack, and after magnanimously par- 
doning Gherardo's father, mother, and sisters, he 
says : " I ran storming down the staircase, and 
when I reached the street, I found all the rest of 
the household, more than twelve persons : one of 
them seized an iron shovel, another a thick iron 
pipe ; one had an anvil, some hammers, some 
cudgels. When I got among them, raging like 
a mad bull, I flung four or five to the earth, and 
fell down with them myself, continually aiming 
my dagger now at one, and now at another. 
Those who remained upright plied with both 
hands with all their force, giving it me with ham- 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 217 

mers, cudgels, and the anvil ; but inasmuch as 
God does sometimes mercifully intervene, he so 
ordered that neither they nor I did any harm to 
one another." 

What fine old days those were, when the tough- 
ness of skin matched so wonderfully the stoutness 
of heart ! One has a suspicion that in these de- 
generate times, were a family dinner-party inter- 
rupted by such an avalanche of daggers, cudgels, 
and anvils, some one would be hurt. As for 
Benvenuto, he does not so much as complain of a 
headache. 

There is an easy, gentleman-like grace in the 
way in which he recounts his incidental homicides. 
When he is hiding behind a hedge at midnight, 
waiting for the opportunity to assassinate his 
enemies, his heart is open to all the sweet influ- 
ences of nature, and he enjoys "the glorious 
heaven of stars." He was not only an artist and 
a fine gentleman, but a saint as well, and " often 
had recourse with pious heart to holy prayers." 
Above all, he had the indubitable evidence of 
sainthood, a halo. "I will not omit to relate 
another circumstance, which is perhaps the most 
remarkable that ever happened to any one. I do 



218 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

so in order to justify the divinity of God and of 
liis secrets, who deigned to grant me this great 
favor : forever since the time of my strange vision 
until now, an aureole of glory (marvelous to re- 
late) has rested on my head. This is visible to 
every sort of man to whom I have chosen to point 
it out, but these have been few." He adds ingen- 
uously, " I am always able to see it." He says, 
" I first became aware of it in France, at Paris ; 
for the air in those parts is so much freer from 
mists that one can see it far better than in Italy." 
Happy Benvenuto with his Parisian halo, 
which did not interfere with the manly arts of 
self-defense ! His self-complacency was possible 
only in a stage of evolution when the saint and 
the assassin were not altogether clearly differen- 
tiated. Some one has said, " Give me the luxu- 
ries of life, and I can get along without the 
necessities." Like many of his time, Benvenuto 
had all the luxuries that belong to the character 
of a Christian gentleman, though he was destitute 
of the necessities. An appreciation of common 
honesty as an essential to a gentleman seems to 
be more slowly developed than the more romantic 
sentiment that is called honor. 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 219 

The evolution of the gentleman has its main 
line of progress where there is a constant though 
slow advance ; but, on the other hand, there are 
arrested developments, and quaint survivals, and 
abortive attempts. 

In each generation there have been men of 
fashion who have mistaken themselves for gentle- 
men. They are uninteresting enough while in 
the flesh, but after a generation or two they be- 
come very quaint and curious, when considered 
as specimens. Each generation imagines that it 
has discovered a new variety, and invents a name 
for it. The dude, the swell, the dandy, the fop, 
the spark, the macaroni, the blade, the popinjay, 
the coxcomb, — these are butterflies of different 
summers. There is here endless variation, but 
no advancement. One fashion comes after an- 
other, but we cannot call it better. One would 
like to see representatives of the different gen- 
erations together in full dress. What variety in 
oaths and small talk ! What anachronisms 
in swords and canes and eye-glasses, in ruffles, 
in collars, in wigs ! What affluence in pow- 
ders and perfumes and colors ! But " will they 
know each other there " ? The real gentlemen 



220 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

would be sure to recognize each other. Abraham 
and Marcus Aurelius and Confucius would find 
much in common. Launcelot and Sir Philip 
Sidney and Chinese Gordon would need no in- 
troduction. Montaigne and Mr. Spectator and 
the Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table would fall 
into delightful chat. But would a " swell " 
recognize a " spark " ? And might we not ex- 
pect a " dude " to fall into immoderate laughter 
at the sight of a " popinjay " ? 

Fashion has its revenges. Nothing seems so 
ridiculous to it as an old fashion. The fop has 
no toleration for the obsolete foppery. The 
artificial gentleman is as inconceivable out of his 
artificial surroundings as the waxen-faced gen- 
tleman of the clothing store outside his show 
window. 

There was Beau Nash, for example, — a much- 
admired person in his day, when he ruled from 
his throne in the pump-room in Bath. Every- 
thing was in keeping. There was Queen Anne 
architecture, and Queen Anne furniture, and 
Queen Anne religion, and the Queen Anne fash- 
ion in fine gentlemen. What a curious piece of 
bricabrac this fine gentleman was, to be sure ! 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 221 

He was not fitted for any useful purpose under 
the sun, but in his place he was quite ornamental, 
and undoubtedly very expensive. Art was as 
self-complacent as if nature had never been in- 
vented. What multitudes of the baser sort must 
be employed in furnishing the fine gentleman 
with clothes ! All Bath admired the way in 
which Beau Nash refused to pay for them. Once 
when a vulgar tradesman insisted on payment, 
Nash compromised by lending him twenty pounds, 
— which he did with the air of a prince. So 
great was the impression he made upon his time 
that a statue was erected to him, while beneath 
were placed the busts of two minor contempora- 
ries, Pope and Newton. This led Lord Chester- 
field to write : — 

" This statue placed the busts between 
Adds to the satire strength, 
Wisdom and wit are little seen, 
But folly at full length." 

Lord Chesterfield himself had nothing in 
common with the absurd imitation gentlemen, 
and yet the gentleman whom he described and 
pretended to admire was altogether artificial. 
He was the Machiavelli of the fashionable world. 



222 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

He saw through it, and recognized its hollow- 
ness ; but such as it was it must be accepted. 
The only thing was to learn how to get on in 
it. " In courts you may expect to meet connec- 
tions without friendships, enmities without ha- 
tred, honor without virtue, appearances saved 
and realities sacrificed, good manners and bad 
morals." 

There is something earnestly didactic about 
Lord Chesterfield. He gives line upon line, and 
precept upon precept, to his " dear boy." Never 
did a Puritan father teach more conscientiously 
the shorter catechism than did he the whole duty 
of the gentleman, which was to save appearances 
even though he must sacrifice reality. " My 
dear boy," he writes affectionately, " I advise 
you to trust neither man nor woman more than 
is absolutely necessary. Accept proffered friend- 
ships with great civility, but with great incre- 
dulity." 

No youth was more strenuously prodded up the 
steep and narrow path of virtue than was little 
Philip Stanhope up the steep and narrow path 
of fashion. Worldliness made into a religion 
was not without its asceticism. " Though you 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 223 

think you dance well, do not think you dance 
well enough. Though you are told that you are 
genteel, still aim at being genteeler. . . . Airs, 
address, manners, graces, are of such infinite 
importance and are so essentially necessary to 
you that now, as the time of meeting draws near, 
I tremble for fear that I may not find you pos- 
sessed of them." 

Lord Chesterfield's gentleman was a man of 
the world ; but it was, after all, a very hard and 
empty world. It was a world that had no eternal 
laws, only changing fashions. It had no broken 
hearts, only broken vows. It was a world cov- 
ered with glittering ice, and the gentleman was 
one who had learned to skim over its dangerous 
places, not caring what happened to those who 
followed him. 

It is a relief to get away from such a world, 
and, leaving the fine gentleman behind, to take 
the rumbling stagecoach to the estates of Sir 
Roger de Coverley. His is not the great world 
at all, and his interests are limited to his own 
parish. But it is a real world, and much better 
suited to a real gentleman. His fashions are 
not the fashions of the court, but they are the 



224 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 
fashions that wear. Even when following the 
hounds Sir Soger has time for friendly greetings. 
" The farmers' sons thought themselves happy if 
they could open a gate for the good old knight, 
which he requited with a nod or a smile, and a 
kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles." 

But even dear old Eoger de Coverley cannot 
rest undisturbed as an ideal gentleman. He be- 
longed, after all, to a privileged order, and there 
is a force at work to destroy all social privileges. 
A generation of farmers' sons must arise not to 
be so easily satisfied with a kindly nod and smile. 
Liberty, fraternity, and equality have to be reck- 
oned with. Democracy has come with its level- 
ing processes. 

" The calm Olympian height 
Of ancient order feels its bases yield." 

In a revolutionary period the virtues of an aris- 
tocracy become more irritating than their vices. 
People cease to attribute merit to what comes 
through good fortune. No wonder that the disci- 
ples of the older time cry : — 

" What hope for the fine-nerved humanities 
That made earth gracious once with gentler arts ? " 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 225 

What becomes of the gentleman in an age of 
democratic equality ? Just what becomes of 
every ideal when the time for its fulfillment has 
come. It is freed from its limitations and enters 
into a larger life. 

Let us remember that the gentleman was 
always a lover of equality, and of the graces that 
can only grow in the society of equals. The 
gentleman of an aristocracy is at his best only 
when he is among his peers. There is a little 
circle within which there is no pushing, no as- 
sumption of superiority. Each member seeks 
not his own, but finds pleasure in a gracious 
interchange of services. 

But an aristocracy leaves only a restricted 
sphere for such good manners. Outside the 
group to which he belongs the gentleman is 
compelled by imperious custom to play the part 
of a superior being. It has always been distaste- 
ful and humiliating to him. It is only an essen- 
tially vulgar nature that can really be pleased 
with the servility of others. 

An ideal democracy is a society in which good 
manners are universal. There is no arrogance 
and no cringing, but social intercourse is based 



226 THE EVOLUTION OF THE GENTLEMAN 

on mutual respect. This ideal democracy has 
not been perfected, but the type of men who are 
creating it has already been evolved. Among 
all the crude and sordid elements of modern life, 
we see the stirring of a new chivalry. It is based 
on a recognition of the worth and dignity of the 
common man. 

Milton in memorable words points out the 
transition which must take place from the gentle- 
man of romance to the gentleman of enduring 
reality. After narrating how, in his youth, he 
betook himself "to those lofty fables and ro- 
mances which recount in solemn cantos the deeds 
of knighthood founded by our victorious kings 
and thence had in renown through all Christen- 
dom," he says, " This my mind gave me that 
every free and gentle spirit, without that oath 
ought to be born a knight, nor needed to expect 
a gilt spur or the laying on of a sword upon his 
shoulder." 



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c-~o*cm*s>^~- 



1^ GENIAL critic detects a note of exaggera- 
te] V. tion in my praise of Ignorance. It is, he 
declares, a bit of "Yellow Journalism." The 
reader's attention is attracted by a glaring head- 
line which leads him to suppose that a crime has 
been committed, when in reality nothing out of 
the ordinary has happened. That a person who 
has emerged from the state of absolute illiteracy 
far enough to appear in print should express a 
preference for Ignorance would be important if 
true. After perusing the chapter, however, he 
is of the opinion that it is not Ignorance, at all, 
that is described, but something much more re- 
spectable. It is akin to a state of mind which 
literary persons have agreed to praise under the 
name of Culture. 



228 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

It is very natural that these literary persons 
should prefer a high-sounding name, and one 
free from vulgar associations, but I do not think 
that their plea will stand the test of scientific 
analysis. Science will not tolerate half know- 
ledge nor pleasant imaginings, nor sympathetic 
appreciations ; it must have definite demonstra- 
tion. The knowledge of the best that has been 
said and thought may be very consoling, but it 
implies an unscientific principle of selection. It 
can be proved by statistics that the best things 
are exceptional. What about the second best, 
not to speak of the tenth rate ? It is only when 
you have collected a vast number of commonplace 
facts that you are on the road to a true generali- 
zation. 

In the Smithsonian Institute at Washington 
there is a children's room, in which there is a 
case marked "Pretty Shells." The specimens 
fully justify the inscription. The very daintiest 
shapes, and the most intricate convolutions, and 
the most delicate tints are represented. They 
are pretty shells, which have not left their beauty 
on the shore. But the delight in all this loveli- 
ness is not scientific. The kind gentleman who 



THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 229 

arranged the shells according to this classification 
acted not in his capacity as a conchologist, but 
as the father of a family. 

Nor does the enjoyment of the most beautiful 
thoughts or words satisfy the requirements of 
those sciences which deal with humanity. The 
distinction between Literature and Science is 
fundamental. What is a virtue in one sphere is 
a vice in the other. After all that has been said 
about the scientific use of the imagination it re- 
mains true that the imagination is an intruder in 
the laboratory. Even if it were put to use, that 
would only mean that it is reduced to a condition 
of slavery. In its own realm it is accustomed 
to play rather than to work. It is also true that 
the attempts to introduce the methods of the labo- 
ratory into literature have been dismal failures. 
That way dullness lies. 

Now and then, indeed, Nature in a fit of pro- 
digality endows one person with both gifts. — 
Was not Oliver Wendell Holmes a Professor of 
Anatomy ? In such a case there is a perpetual 
effervescence. But even Dr. Holmes could not 
insinuate a sufficient knowledge of Anatomy by 
means of a series of discursive essays ; nor could 



230 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

he give scientific value to the reflections of the 
" Autocrat of the Breakfast Table." 

There was a time when the ability to read was 
such a rare accomplishment that it seemed to 
furnish the key to all knowledge. Men of the 
baser sort had to learn by experience, but the 
reader followed a royal path to the very fountain 
head of wisdom. Ordinary rules were not for 
him ; he could claim the benefit of clergy. Only 
a generation ago young men of parts prepared 
themselves for the bar — and very good lawyers 
they made — by " reading Blackstone." Black- 
stone is a pleasant author, with a fund of wise 
observations, and many pleasant afternoons were 
spent in his company. In like manner other 
young men " read medicine." 

It is now coming to be understood that one 
cannot read a science ; it must be studied in quite 
a different fashion. " Book-learning " in such 
matters has been discredited. 

The Gentle Eeader has learned this lesson. It 
may be that he has cultivated some tiny field of 
his own, and has thus come to know how different 
this laborious task is from the care-free wander- 
ing in which at other hours he delights. But 



THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 231 

though he cannot read his way into the domains 
of strict science, yet there is an adjacent territory 
which he frequents. Into this territory, though 
he holds an ambiguous position, and finds many 
to molest and make him afraid, he is drawn by 
an insatiable curiosity. In a border-land danger 
has attractions and mystery is alluring. There 
is pleasant reading in spite of many threatening 
technicalities which seem to bar further progress. 
On the coasts of the Dark Continent of Igno- 
rance the several sciences have gained a foothold. 
In each case there is a well-defined country care- 
fully surveyed and guarded. Within its frontiers 
the laws are obeyed, and all affairs are carried 
on in an orderly fashion. Beyond it is a vague 
" sphere of influence," a Hinter-land over which 
ambitious claims of suzerainty are made ; but the 
native tribes have not yet been exterminated, and 
life goes on very much as in the olden time. Into 
the Hinter-land the Gentle Reader wanders, and 
he is known to the scientific explorer as a friendly 
native, whose good-will is worth cultivating. He 
is often confounded with the " General Reader," 
a very different person, whose omnivorous appe- 
tite and intemperance in the use of miscellaneous 



232 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

information are very offensive to him. Unscru- 
pulous adventurers carry on a thriving trade with 
the General Reader in damaged goods, which are 
foisted on him under the name of Popular Science. 

In the Hinter-land there is dense ignorance of 
the achievements and even of the names of most 
of those who are recognized as authorities in their 
several sciences. They are as unknown as is the 
Lord Mayor of London to the natives on the 
banks of the Zambesi. The heroes of the Hin- 
ter-land are the bold explorers who in militant 
fashion have made their way into regions as yet 
unsubdued. 

In the middle of the nineteenth century there 
was an heroic period during which scientific in- 
vestigation took on all the color of romance. 
The Gentle Reader turns to the lives and ^works 
of Darwin, Huxley, and Tyndall, very much as 
he would turn to the tales of Charlemagne and 
his Paladins. Here was a field of action. Some- 
thing happened. As he reads he is conscious 
that he has nothing of that impersonal attitude 
which belongs to pure science. It is not scien- 
tific but human interest which moves him. He 



THE HTNTEE-LAND OF SCIENCE 233 

is anxious to know what these men did, and what 
was the result of their deeds. It is an intellectual 
adventure of which the outcome is still uncertain. 

The new generation cannot fully realize what 
the word " Evolution " meant to those who saw 
in it a portent of mysterious change. In its early 
advocates there was a mingling of romantic dar- 
ing and missionary zeal. Its enemies resisted 
with the fortitude which belongs to those who 
never know when they are beaten. In almost 
any old bookstores one may see a counter labeled 
" Second-hand Theology, very cheap." It is a 
collection of the spent ammunition which may 
still be found on the field of battle. It is in an 
unfrequented corner. Now and then a theologi- 
cal student may visit it, but even he seems rather 
to be a vague considerer of worthy things than 
a bargain hunter. Yet once these volumes were 
eagerly read. 

Out of the border warfare between Science and 
certain types of Theology and Philosophy there 
came a kind of literature that has a very real 
value and which is not lacking in charm. What 
a sense of relief came to the Gentle Reader when 
he stumbled upon John Fiske's " Excursions of 



234 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

an Evolutionist." This was the very thing he 
had been looking for ; not an exhaustive survey, 
nor a strenuous campaign, but an excursion with 
a competent guide and interpreter, a friendly 
person acquainted with the country who would 
tell him the things he wanted to know, and not 
weary him with irrelevant and confusing details. 

What an admirable interpreter Fiske was ! 
Darwin, with characteristic modesty, acknow- 
ledged his indebtedness to him for pointing out 
some of the larger results of his own inves- 
tigations. He had the instinct which enabled 
him to seize the salient points ; to open up new 
vistas, to make clear a situation. His histories 
are always readable because he followed the 
main stream and never lost himself in a sluggish 
bayou. The same method applied to cosmic 
forces makes him see their dramatic movement. 
It is the genius of a born man of letters using 
the facts discovered by scientific methods for its 
own purpose. That purpose is always broad and 
humanizing. 

The specialist is apt to speak patronizingly of 
such work, as if it were necessarily inferior to his 
own. It seems to bear the marks of superficial- 



THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 235 

ity. To appreciate it properly one must take it 
for what it is. Man was interested in the Uni- 
verse long before he began to study it scientifi- 
cally. He dreamed about it, he mused over its 
mysteries, he talked about its more obvious as- 
pects. And it is as interesting now as it ever 
was and as fit an object of thought. The con- 
ceptions which satisfied us in the days when igno- 
rance had not arrived at self-consciousness have 
to be given up ; but we are anxious to know what 
have taken their places. We want to get our 
bearings and to discern the general trend of the 
forces which make the world. It is no mean 
order of mind that is fitted to answer our needs 
by wise interpretation. 

There is often a conflict between private own- 
ers and the public over the right to fish in certain 
waters. The landowners put up warning signs 
and try to prevent trespass, while the public in- 
sists on its ancient privileges. The law, with 
that admirable common sense for which it has 
such a great reputation, makes a distinction. 
The small pond may be privately owned and 
fenced in, but " boatable waters " are free to all. 

So we may concede to the specialist the exclu- 



236 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

sive right to have an opinion on certain sub- 
jects — subjects let us say of a size suitable for 
the thesis of a Doctor of Philosophy. But we 
are not to be shut off from the pleasure of think- 
ing on more sizable themes. We have all equal 
rights on the " boatable waters." 

Matthew Arnold retells the story of the Scho- 
lar-gypsy who, forsaking the university, " took to 
the woods," — so far as we can learn from the 
poem, to his own spiritual and intellectual ad- 
vantage. The combination of the scholar and 
gypsy has a fascination. One likes to conceive of 
thought as playing freely among the other forces 
of nature, and dealing directly with all objects 
and not with those especially prepared for it. 

Across the border-land of the physical sciences 
one may meet many such scholar-gypsies. They 
have taken to the wilderness and yet carried into 
it a trained intelligence. Here may be found 
keen observers, who might have written text-books 
on ornithology had they not fallen in love with 
birds. They follow their friends into their haunts 
in the thickets, and they love to gossip about their 
peculiarities. Here are botanists who love the 



■ THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 237 

growing things in the fields and woods better 
than the specimens in their herbariums. They 
love to describe better than to analyze. Now and 
then one may meet a renegade who carries a geo- 
logist's hammer. It is a sheer hypocrisy, like a 
fishing rod in the hands of a contemplative ram- 
bler. It is merely an excuse for being out of 
doors and among the mountains. 

The Gentle Reader finds unfailing delight in 
these wanderers. They open up to him a leafy 
world. Thanks to them there are places where 
he feels intimately at home : a certain English 
parish ; a strip of woodland in Massachusetts ; 
the vicinity of a farm on the Hudson ; an en- 
chanted country in the high Sierras. 

" I verily believe," he says, " there is more 
Natural History to be learned in such places than 
in all the museums. Besides, I never liked a 
museum." 

The fact is that he does learn a good many 
things in this way — and some of them he re- 
members. 

The native African who is capable of under- 
standing the philosophy of history may adjust 



238 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

his mind to the idea that his continent is intended 
for exploitation by a superior race. The forests 
in which his ancestors have hunted for genera- 
tions form only a part of the Hinter-land of some 
colony on the coast which he has never seen. 
After a time, by an inevitable process of expan- 
sion, the colony will absorb and assimilate all the 
adjoining country. But his perplexities are not 
over when he has, in a general way, resigned 
himself to manifest destiny. He discovers that 
all Europeans are not alike, though they certainly 
look alike. There are conflicting claims. To 
whose sphere of influence does he belong ? It is 
not easy to answer such questions, and mistakes 
are liable to bring down upon him punitive ex- 
peditions from different quarters. 

A similar perplexity arises in the minds of 
the simple inhabitants of the scientific Hinter- 
lands. They are ready to admit the superior 
claims of the exact sciences, but they are puz- 
zled to know to what particular sphere they be- 
long. 

In the absence of any generally received phi- 
losophy each special science pushes out as far as 
it can and attempts to take in the whole of exist- 



THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 239 

ence. The specialist, forgetting his self-imposed 
limitations, and fired with the ambition for wide 
generalization, which is the infirmity of all active 
minds, becomes an intellectual tyrant. He is a 
veritable Tamerlane, and if he rears no pyramids 
of skulls, he leaves behind him a multitude of 
muddled brains. 

Wilberforce tells us of the havoc wrought in 
his day by the new science of Political Economy. 
Adam Smith's " "Wealth of Nations " was hailed 
as the complete solution of all social problems. 
Forgetting the narrow scope of the inquiry which 
had to do with only a single aspect of human 
life, the maxims of trade were elevated into the 
place of the moral law. Superstition magnified 
those useful twins, Demand and Supply, into 
two all-powerful Genii who were quite capable of 
doing the work of Providence. For any one in 
the spirit of brotherly kindness to interfere with 
their autocratic operations was looked upon as 
an act of rebellion against the nature of things. 
"A dismal science," indeed, as any science is 
when it becomes an unlimited despotism. 

At the present time Geology is a very modest 
science, remaining peacefully within its natural 



240 THE HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 

frontiers ; but in the days of Hugh Miller it 
was viewed with alarm. Elated with its victory 
in the affair with Genesis, its adherents were filled 
with militant ardor and were in the mood for 
universal conquest. In alliance with Chemistry 
it invaded the sphere of morals. Was not even 
Euskin induced to write of the " Ethics of the 
Dust " ? In the form of Physical Geography and 
with the auxiliary forces of Meteorology, it was 
ready to recast human history. Books were 
written to show that all civilization could be 
sufficiently explained by one who took account 
only of such features of the world as soil and 
climate. 

While learned men were geologizing through 
the successive stratifications of humanity, a new 
claimant appeared. Biology became easily the 
paramount power. Its fame spread far and 
wide among those who knew nothing of its se- 
verer methods. In the Hinter-land the worship 
of Protoplasm became a cult. The hopes and 
fears and spiritual powers of humanity seemed 
illusory unless such phenomena were confirmed 
by analogies drawn from " the psychic life of 
micro-organisms." Fortunately at about this 



THE* HINTER-LAND OF SCIENCE 241 

time the aggressive temper of " The New Psy- 
chology " did much to restore the balance of 
power. Under its influence those who still ad- 
hered to the belief that the proper study of man- 
kind is man took heart and ventured, though with 
caution, to move abroad. The new Psychology 
in its turn has developed imperialistic ambitions. 
Its conquests have not been without much devas- 
tation, especially in the fair fields of education. 
A distinguished Psychologist has sounded a note 
of warning. He would have psychological ex- 
periments confined to the laboratory, leaving the 
school -room to the wholesome government of 
common sense. It is doubtful, however, whether 
such protests will avail any more than the elo- 
quence of the Little Englanders has been able 
to limit colonial expansion. 

The border-land between Psychology and So- 
ciology is the scene of many a foray. The Psy- 
chologist thinks nothing of following a fleeing idea 
across the frontier. He deals confidently with 
the " Psychology of the mob," and " the aggre- 
gate mind," and the hypnotic influence of the 
crowd. There is such an air of authority about 
it all, that we forget that he is dealing with fig- 



242 THE HINTEE-LAND OF SCIENCE 

ures of speech. On the other hand, the Sociolo- 
gist attempts to solve the most delicate problems 
of the individual soul by the statistical method. 

The Hinter-land has not yet been reduced to 
order. The Gentle Reader suspects that no one 
of the rival sciences is strong enough to impose 
its own laws over so wide a region. Perhaps, 
after all, they may have to call upon Philosophy 
to undertake the task of forming a responsible 
government. 



A 



— ■c>exs> ! 9<»»~ 



Si HERE lias been a sad falling off In clerical 
■ character," says the Gentle Reader. "In 
the old books it is a pleasure to meet a parson. 
He is so simple and hearty that you feel at home 
with him at once. You know just where to find 
him, and he always takes himself and his profes- 
sion for granted. He may be a trifle narrow, 
but you make allowance for that, and as for his 
charity it has no limits. You expect him to give 
away everything he can lay hands on. As for 
his creed it is always the same as the church to 
which he belongs, which is a great relief and 
saves no end of trouble. But the clergyman I 
meet with in novels nowadays is in a chronic 



244 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

state of fidgetiness. Nothing is as it seems or 
as it ought to be. He is as full of problems as 
an egg is full of meat. Everything resolves 
itself into a conflict of duties, and whichever 
duty he does he wishes it had been the other one. 
When the poor man is not fretting because of 
evil-doers he begins to fret because of the well- 
doers, who do well in the old fashion without 
any proper knowledge of the Higher Criticism or 
Sanitary Drainage. What with his creed and his 
congregation and his love affairs, all of which 
need mending, he lives a distracted life. Though 
the author in the first chapter praises his athletic 
prowess, he seems to have no staying powers and 
his nerves give out under the least strain. He 
is one of those trying characters of whom some 
one has said that 'we can hear their souls 
scrape.' I prefer the old-time parsons. They 
were much more comfortable and in more rugged 
health. I like the phrase ' Bishops and other 
Clergy.' The bishops are great personages 
whose lives are written like the lives of the Lord 
Chancellors ; and they are not always very 
readable. But my heart goes out to the other 
clergy, the good sensible men who were neither 



AMONG THE CLERGY 245 

great scholars nor reformers nor martyrs, and 
who therefore did not get into the Church His- 
tories, but who kept things going." 

When he turns to the parson of " The Canter- 
bury Tales" he finds the refreshment that comes 
from contact with a perfectly wholesome nature. 
Here is an enduring type of natural piety. In 
the person of the good man the prayers of the 
church for the healthful spirit of grace had been 
answered in full measure. In his ministry in his 
wide parish we cannot imagine him as being 
worried or hurried. There could be for him no 
conflict of duties ; the duties plodded along one 
after another in sturdy English fashion. And 
when the duties were well done that was the end 
of them. Their pale uneasy ghosts did not dis- 
turb his slumbers, and point with vague menace 
to the unattainable. The parson had his place 
and his definite task. He trod the earth as firmly 
and sometimes as heavily as did the ploughman. 

If the virtues of the fourteenth-century parson 
were of the enduring order, so were his foibles. 
The Gentle Reader is familiar with his weak- 
nesses ; for has he not " sat under his preach- 
ing ? " The homiletic habit is hard to break, and 



246 THE <5ENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

renders its victim strangely oblivious to the pas- 
sage of time. Every incident suggests a text 
and every text suggests a new application. In 
the homiletic sphere perpetual motion is an 
assured success. 

What sinking of heart must have come to lay- 
men J-ike the merchant and the yeoman when the 
parson on the pleasant road to Canterbury called 
their attention to the resemblance between their 
journey and 

"... thilke parfit, glorious pilgrymage, 
That highte Jerusalem celestial." 

They knew the symptoms. When the homilist 
has got scent of an analogy he will run it down, 
however long the chase. 

It would be interesting to discover the origin 
of the impression so persistent in the lay mind 
that sermons are long. A sermon is seldom as 
long as it seems. But it is always with trepida- 
tion that the listener observes in a discourse a 
constitutional tendency to longevity. In his 
opinion the good die young. As it is to-day so 
it was on the afternoon when the host, with ill- 
concealed alarm, called upon the good parson to 
take his turn. 



AMONG THE CLERGY 247 

" Telleth," quod he, " youre meditacioun ; 
But hasteth yow, the Sonne wole adoun. 
Beth fructuous, and that in litel space." 

It is needless to say that what the parson called 
his " little tale in prose" proved to be one of his 
old sermons which he delivered without notes. 
He was very unskillful in concealing his text, 
which was Jeremiah vi. 16. 

We are familiar with that interesting picture 
of the pilgrims as they set out in the morning, 
each figure alert. I wonder that some one has 
not painted a picture of them about sunset, as 
the parson was in the middle of his discourse. 
It is said that in every battle there is a critical 
moment when each side is almost exhausted. 
The side which at this moment receives rein- 
forcements or rallies for a supreme effort gains 
the victory. So one must have noticed in every 
over-long discourse a critical moment when the 
speaker and his hearers are equally exhausted. 
If at that moment the speaker, who has appar- 
ently used up his material, boldly announces 
a new head, the hearers' discomfiture is complete. 
This point of strategy the parson, guileless as he 
was, understood and so managed to get in the 



248 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

last word, so that " The Canterbury Tales " end 
with the Canterbury sermon. 

By the way, there was one ministerial weak- 
ness from which Chaucer's parson was free, — 
the love of alliteration. One is often struck, 
when listening to a fervent discourse against 
besetting sins, with the curious fact that all the 
transgressions begin with the same letter of the 
alphabet. There is something suspicious in this 
circumstance. Not a great many years ago a 
political party suffered severely because its can- 
didate received an address from a worthy clergy- 
man who was addicted to this habit, and instead 
of the usual three R's enumerated " Rum, Roman- 
ism, and Rebellion." The chances are that he 
meant no offense to his Roman Catholic fellow 
citizens ; but once on the toboggan slide of allitera- 
tion he could not stop. If instead of rum he had 
begun with whiskey, his homiletic instinct would 
have led him to assert that the three perils of the 
Republic were whiskey, war, and woman-suffrage. 

It is to the credit of Chaucer's parson that 
he distinctly repudiated alliteration with all its 
allurements, especially in connection with the 
seductive letter R. 



AMONG THE CLERGY 249 

" I kan nat geeste ' rum, ram, ruf] by lettre ; 
Ne, God -woot, rym holde I but litel bettre." 

When it came to plain prose without any rhetori- 
cal embellishments, he was in his element. 

It must be confessed that the clergyman is 
not an eminently Shakespearean character. The 
great high ecclesiastics, like Pandulph and Wol- 
sey, are great personages who make a fine show, 
but the other clergy are not always in good and 
regular standing. They are sometimes little 
better than hedge-priests. But what pleasant 
glimpses we get into the unwritten history of the 
English Church in the days when it was still 
Merry England. The Cranmers and the Eidleys 
made a great stir in those days, but no rumors of 
it reached the rural parishes where Holofernes 
kept school and Nathanael warmed over for his 
slumbering congregation the scraps he had stolen 
in his youth from the feast of the languages. As 
for the parishioners, they were doubtless well sat- 
isfied and could speak after the fashion of Con- 
stable Dull when he was reproved for his silence. 

" Goodman Dull, thou hast said no word all 
this while." 



250 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

Dull, — ' A Nor understood none neither, sir! " 

The innocent pedant whose learning lies in 
the dead languages and who has a contempt for 
the living world is a type not extinct ; but what 
shall we say of the Welsh curate of Windsor, 
Hugh Evans? In Windsor Park Mrs. Ford 
whispers, " Where is Nan now and her troop of 
fairies, and that Welsh devil Sir Hugh ? " 

That was her affectionate, though not respect- 
ful, way of referring to her spiritual adviser. 
Curate Evans was certainly not an example of 
what has been termed " the mild and temperate 
spirituality which has always characterized the 
Church of England." The dignity of the cloth 
is not in his mind as he cries, " Trib, fairies, trib, 
come and remember your parts, pe pold, I pray 
you, . . . whenlgivethewatch'ordsdo as Ipidyou." 

Yet though he seemed not to put so much em- 
phasis on character in religion as we in these 
more serious days think fitting, this Welsh devil 
of a parson had enough of the professional spirit 
to wish to point a moral on all proper occasions. 
Not too obtrusive or moral, nor carrying it to 
the sweating point, but a good, sound approba- 
tion of right sentiment. When Master Slender 



AMONG THE CLERGY 251 

declares his resolution, " After this trick I '11 
ne'er be drunk while I live again but in honest, 
civil, godly company. If I be drunk I '11 be 
drunk with those who fear God," the convivial 
curate responds, " So God judge me that shows 
a virtuous mind." 

That Shakespeare intended any reflection on 
the Welsh clergy is not probable ; but so late as 
the eighteenth century a traveler in Wales re- 
marks that the ale house was usually kept by the 
parson. One wonders whether with such mani- 
fest advantages the Welsh ministers' meetings 
were given over to lugubrious essays on " Why 
we do not reach the masses." 

Shakespeare uses the word Puritan once, but 
Malvolio was a prig rather than a true Puritan. 
His objection to cakes and ale was rather because 
revelry disturbed his slumbers than because it 
troubled his conscience. But when we turn to 
Ben Jonson's Alchemist and come across Tribula- 
tion Wholesome, from Amsterdam, we know that 
the battle between the stage and the conventicle 
has begun. We know the solid virtues of these 
sectaries from whom came some of the best 



252 THE GENTLE EEADER'S FRIENDS 

things in England and New England. But we 
must not expect to find this side of their charac- 
ter in the literature of the next two or three 
centuries. Unfortunately the non-conformist con- 
science was offended at those innocent pleasures 
in which amiable writers and readers have always 
taken satisfaction. 

Charles Lamb inclined to the opinion of his 
friend who held that " a man cannot have a good 
conscience who refuses apple dumpling." The 
gastronomic argument against Puritanism has 
always been a strong one with the English mind. 
It was felt that a person must be a hypocrite who 
could speak disrespectfully of the creature com- 
forts. There was no toleration for the miserable 
pretender who would " blaspheme custard through 
the nose." Tribulation Wholesome was deserv- 
ing only of the pillory. There was no doubt but 
that the viands which were publicly reprobated 
were privately enjoyed. 

" You rail against plays to please the alderman 
Whose daily custard you devour. 
. . . You call yourselves 
By names of Tribulation, Persecution, 
Restraint, Long Patience and such-like, affected 
Only for glory and to catch the ear 
Of the disciple." 



AMONG THE CLERGY 253 

In "Bartholomew Fair " we meet Mr. Zeal of 
the Land Busy, an unlicensed exhorter, who has 
attained the liberty of prophesying, and is the 
leader of a little flock. 

Did history keep on repeating itself, or did 
literary men keep on repeating each other ? At 
any rate Mr. Zeal of the Land Busy reappears 
continually. He is in every particular the proto- 
type of those painful brethren who roused the 
wrath of honest Sam Weller. We recognize his 
unctuous speech, his unfailing appetite, and even 
his offensive and defensive alliance with the 
mother-in-law. 

Mr. Little- Wit introduces him as "An old 
elder from Banbury who puts in here at meal 
times to praise the painful brethren and to pray 
that the sweet singers may be restored ; and he 
says grace as long as his breath lasts." 

To which Mrs. Little-Wit responds, "Yes, 
indeed, we have such a tedious time with him, 
what for his diet and his clothes too, he breaks 
his buttons and cracks seams at every saying that 
he sobs out." 

In answer to the anxious inquiry of his mother- 
in-law, Dame Pure-Craft, Little- Wit announces 



254 THE GENTLE HEADER'S FRIENDS 

that he has found the good man " with his teeth 
fast in the cold turkey-pie in the cupboard, with 
a great white loaf on his left hand, and a glass 
of malmsey on his right." In Dame Pure-Craft 
he finds a stanch supporter. " Slander not the 
brethren, wicked one," she cries. 

Zeal of the Land Busy attempts to lead his flock 
through the perils of Bartholomew Fair. " Walk 
in the middle of the way — turn neither to the 
right nor to the left. Let not your eyes be drawn 
aside by vanity nor your ears by noises." It was 
indeed a dangerous journey, for it was nothing 
less than " a grove of hobby horses and trinkets ; 
the wares are the wares of devils, and the fair is 
the shop of Satan." 

But, alas, though the eyes and ears were 
guarded, another avenue of temptation had been 
forgotten. The delicious odor of roast pig came 
from one of the booths. It was a delicate little 
pig, cooked with fire of juniper and rosemary 
branches. Mrs. Little-Wit longed for it and her 
husband encouraged her weakness. Dame Pure- 
Craft rebukes him and bids him remember the 
wholesome admonition of their leader. 

Zeal of the Land Busy is a casuist of uo mean 



AMONG THE CLERGY 255 

ability, and is equal to the task of finding an ex- 
ception to his own rule. 

" It may offer itself by other means to the 
sense, as by way of steam, which I think it doth 
in this place, huh ! huh! — yes, it doth. And it 
were a sin of obstinacy, high and horrible ob- 
stinacy, to resist the titillation of the famelic 
sense which is smell. Therefore be bold, follow 
the scent ; enter the tents of the unclean for this 
once, and satisfy your wife's frailty. Let your 
frail wife be satisfied ; your zealous mother and 
my suffering self will be satisfied also." 

Zeal of the Land Busy was like a certain Eng- 
lish statesman of whom it was said, "His con- 
science, instead of being his monitor, became his 
accomplice." 

One characteristic of these unlicensed exhort- 
ers seems to be very persistent, — their almost 
superhuman fluency. Despising preparation and 
trusting to the inspiration of the moment, they 
are never left without words. Preaching without 
notes is not particularly difficult if one has some- 
thing to say, but these exhorters attempt to 
preach without notes and also without ideas. 
They require nothing but a word to begin with. 



256 THE GENTLE HEADER'S FRIENDS 

The speaker is like an army which, having broken 
away from its base of supplies, lives on the coun- 
try through which it is marching. The hortatory 
guerrilla gets forage enough in one sentence to 
carry him on through the next. This was the 
homiletical method which Zeal of the Land used 
in his discourse at the fair. At a venture he 
cries out, — 

" Down with Dagon ! " 

Leather-Head, the hobby-horse seller, asks very 
imprudently, — 

" What do you mean, sir ! " 

That was enough ; a torrent of impromptu elo- 
quence is let loose. 

" I will remove Dagon there, I say ; that idol, 
that heathenish idol, that remains as I may say 
a beam, a very beam, not a beam of the sun, nor 
a beam of the moon, nor a beam of the balance, 
neither a house beam, nor a weaver's beam, but 
a beam in the eye, an exceeding great beam ! " 

It was the same method employed long after by 
Mr. Chadband in his moving address to little Joe. 

" My young friend, you are to us a pearl, a 
diamond, you are to us a jewel. And why, my 
young friend ? " 



AMONG THE CLERGY 257 

" I don't know," replied Joe, " I don't know 
nothink." 

This gave Mr. Chadband his opportunity for 
continued speech. " My young friend, it is be- 
cause you know nothing that you are to us a gem, 
a jewel. For what are you ? Are you a beast of 
the field ? No ! Are you a fish of the river ? 
No ! You are a human boy ! Oh, glorious to 
be a human boy ! And why glorious, my young 
friend?" 

Marvelous, to taciturn folk, is this flow of 
language. The little rill becomes a torrent, and 
soon there are waters to swim in. It seems to 
savor of the supernatural, being of the nature of 
creation out of nothing. And yet like many 
other wonderful things, it is easy when one knows 
how to do it. 

The churchmen of those days joined with the 
wits in laughter which greeted the tinkers and the 
bakers who turned to prophesying on their own 
account. But now and then one of the zealous 
independents could give as keen a thrust as any 
which were received. It would be hard to find 
more delicate satire than in the description of Par- 



258 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

son Two Tongues of the town of Fair Speech, who 
was much esteemed by his distinguished parish- 
ioners, My Lord Time-Server, Mr. Facing Both- 
Ways, and Mr. Anything. The parson was a man 
of good family, though his grandfather had been 
a waterman, and had thus learned the art of look- 
ing one way and rowing another. It is his pa- 
rishioner Mr. Bye-Ends who propounds the ques- 
tion of ministerial ethics. " Suppose a minister, a 
worthy man, possessed of but a small benefice, 
has in his eye a greater, more fat and plump by 
far ; he has also now an opportunity of getting 
it, yet so as being more studious, by preaching 
more zealously, and because the temper of the 
people requires it, by altering some of his prin- 
ciples, for my part I see no reason but a man may 
do this (provided he has a call), aye, and a great 
deal more besides, and be an honest man." As 
for changing his principles to suit the times, Mr. 
Bye-Ends argues that it shows that the minister 
" is of a self-sacrificing temper." 

The argument for conformity is put so plausi- 
bly that it is calculated to deceive the very elect ; 
and then as if by mere inadvertence we are 
allowed a glimpse of the seamy side. It is evi- 



AMONG THE CLERGY 259 

dent that the wits were not all banished from the 
conventicles. 

To those who are acquainted only with the 
pale and interesting tea-drinking parsons of 
nineteenth-century English fiction, there is some- 
thing surprising in the clergymen one meets 
in the pages of Fielding. They are all in such 
rude health ! There is not a suggestion of nerv- 
ous prostration nor of minister's sore throat. 
Not one of them seems to he in need of a vaca- 
tion ; perhaps because they are out of doors 
all the time. Their professional duties were 
doubtless done, but they are not obtruded on 
the reader's attention. 

The odious Chaplain Thwackum is chiefly re- 
membered for his argument with the free-thinker 
Square. Square having asserted that honor might 
exist independently of religion, Thwackum re- 
futes him in a manner most satisfactory. " When 
I mention religion I mean the Christian religion, 
and not only the Christian religion but the Pro- 
testant religion, and not only the Protestant re- 
ligion but the religion of the Church of England ; 
and when I mention honor I mean that mode of 



260 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

divine grace which is dependent on that reli- 
gion." 

" Thwackum," says the Gentle Reader, " was, 
after all, an unworldly man. He was content to 
remain a mere hanger-on of the church when he 
was capable of thoughts which were really in 
great demand. I have been looking over a huge 
controversial volume by an author of that day, 
and I found nothing but Thwackum argument 
expanded and illustrated. The author was made 
a bishop for it." 

As for Parson Trulliber, the Falstaff of di- 
vines, the less said about him the better. The 
curate Barnabas is a more pleasing character, 
though hardly an example of spirituality. He 
reminds one of the good parson who, in his desire 
for moderation, prayed that the Lord might lead 
his people " in the safe middle path between right 
and wrong." 

When Joseph Andrews confessed his sins to 
him, Barnabas was divided between his eagerness 
to do his professional duty to the sinner, and the 
desire to prepare the punch for the company 
downstairs, a work in which he particularly 
excelled. 



AMONG THE CLERGY 261 

" Barnabas asked him if he forgave his enemies 
* as a Christian ought.' 

" Joseph desired to know what that forgiveness 
was. 

" ' That is,' answered Barnabas, ' to forgive 
them — as — it is to forgive them as — in short, 
to forgive them as a Christian." 

" Joseph replied ' He forgave them as much as 
he could.' 

" s Well ! Well ! ' said Barnabas, ' that will do ! ' 
He then demanded of him if he had any more 
sins unrepented of, and if he had, to repent of 
them as fast as he could ; . . . for some company 
was waiting below in the parlor where the ingre- 
dients for punch were all in readiness, for that no 
one could squeeze the oranges till he came." 

Barnabas would have been shocked at the 
demands of the Methodists for immediate repent- 
ance, but on this occasion he was led into almost 
equal urgency. 

But Fielding more than atones for all the rest 
by the creation of Parson Adams. Dear, delight- 
ful Parson Adams ! to know him is to love him ! 
In him the Church of England appears a little 
out at the elbows, but in good heart. With the 



262 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

appetite of a ploughman, and " a fist rather less 
than the knuckle of an ox," he represents the 
true church militant. He has a pipe in his mouth, 
and a short great coat which half conceals his 
cassock, which he had " torn some ten years ago 
in passing over a stile." But however uncanon- 
ical his attire, his heart is in the right place. 

What a different world Parson Adams lived 
in from that of George Eliot's Amos Barton, 
bewildered with thoughts which he could not ex- 
press. " ' Mr. Barton,' said his rural parishioner, 
" ' can preach as good a sermon as need be when 
he writes it down, but when he tries to preach 
without book he rambles about, and every now 
and then flounders like a sheep as has cast itself 
and can't get on its legs.' " 

One cannot imagine Parson Adams flounder- 
ing about, under any circumstances. There is a 
sturdy strength and directness about all he says 
and does. His simplicity is endearing but never 
savors of weakness. 

He sets great store by his manuscript sermons, 
for which he seeks a publisher. The curate Bar- 
nabas throws cold water on his plans. The age, 
he says, is so wicked that nobody reads sermons ; 



AMONG THE CLERGY 263 

" ' Would you think it, Mr. Adams, I intended 
to print a volume of sermons, myself, and they 
had the approbation of three bishops, but what 
do you think the bookseller offered me ? ' 

" ' Twelve guineas,' cried Adams. 

" ' Nay,' answered Barnabas, ' the dog refused 
me a concordance in exchange. ... To be con- 
cise with you, three bishops said they were the 
best sermons that were ever writ ; but indeed 
there are a pretty moderate number printed 
already, and they are not all sold yet.' ' 

The theology of Parson Adams was genially 
human. " ' Can anything,' he said, ' be more de- 
rogatory to the honor of God than for men to 
imagine that the all- wise Being will hereafter say 
to the good and virtuous, Notwithstanding the 
purity of thy life, notwithstanding the constant 
rule of virtue and goodness in which thou walk- 
edst upon earth ; still, as thou didst not believe 
everything in the true orthodox manner, thy 
want of faith shall condemn thee ? Or, on the 
other side, can any doctrine be more pernicious 
in society than the persuasion that it will be a 
good plea for a villain at the last day, — " Lord, 
it is true I never obeyed any of Thy command- 



264 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

ments ; yet punish me not, for I believe in them 
all?"'" 

This was not sound doctrine in the opinion of 
the itinerant bookseller. " ' I am afraid,' he 
said, ' that you will find a backwardness in the 
trade to engage in a book which the clergy would 
be certain to cry down.' " 

The good parson had the clerical weakness for 
reading sermons in season and out of season. At 
a festive gathering there was a call for speeches, 
to which it was objected that no one was pre- 
pared for an address ; " ' Unless,' turning to 
Adams, ' you have a sermon about you.' 

" ' Sir,' said Adams, ' I never travel without 
one, for fear of what might happen.' ' ; 

Like other clergymen, he dabbled occasionally 
in politics. " ' On all proper seasons, such as at 
the approach of an election, I throw a suitable 
dash or two into my sermons, which I have 
the pleasure to hear is not disagreeable to 
Sir Thomas and the other honest gentlemen, my 
neighbors.' " 

At one time he actively labored for the election 
of young Sir Thomas Booby, who had lately re- 
turned from his travels. He was elected, " ' and 



AMONG THE CLERGY 265 

a fine Parliament man he was. They tell me he 
made speeches of an hour long, and I have been 
told very fine ones ; but he could never persuade 
Parliament to be of his opinion.' " 

Estimable, eloquent Sir Thomas Booby ! How 
many orators have found the same result follow- 
ing their speeches of an hour long ! 

To the returned traveler who had engaged in 
a controversy with him, Parson Adams gave ex- 
pression to his literary faith. 

" ' Master of mine, perhaps I have traveled a 
great deal further than you, without the assist- 
ance of a ship. Do you imagine sailing by dif- 
ferent cities or countries is traveling. I can go 
further in an afternoon than you in a twelve- 
month. What, I suppose you have seen the 
pillars of Hercules and perhaps the walls of Car- 
thage ? . . . You have sailed among the Cyclades 
and passed the famous straits which took their 
name from the unfortunate Helle, so sweetly de- 
scribed by Apollonius Khodius ; you have passed 
the very spot where Daedalus fell into the sea ; 
you have doubtless traversed the Euxine, and 
called at Colchis to see if there was another 
golden fleece.' 



266 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

" ' Not I, truly,' said the gentleman. ' I never 
touched at any of these places.' 

" ' But I have been in all these, ' replied 
Adams. 

" ' Then you have been in the Indies, for there 
are no such places, I '11 be sworn, either in the 
West Indies or in the Levant.' 

" ' Pray, where is the Levant ? ' quoth Adams. 

" ' Oho ! You 're a pretty traveler and not to 
know the Levant. You must not tip me for a 
traveler, it won't go here.' 

" ' Since thou art so dull as to misunderstand 
me,' quoth Adams, ' I will inform thee. The 
traveling I mean is in books, the only kind of 
traveling by which any knowledge is acquired.' " 

" There is a great deal to be said in defense of 
that opinion," says the Gentle Reader. 

To turn from Parson Adams to the Vicar of 
Wakefield is to experience a change of spiritual 
climate. Parson Adams was a good man, and 
so was Dr. Primrose ; otherwise they were quite 
different. Was piety ever made more attractive 
to restless, over-driven people than in the person 
of the dear, non-resistant vicar. Here was a man 



AMONG THE CLERGY 267 

who might be reviled and persecuted, — but he 
never could be hurried. 

The Gentle Reader rejoices in the peace of the 
opening chapters. " The year was spent in moral 
and rural amusements. We had no revolutions 
to fear, no fatigues to undergo, all our adven- 
tures were by the fireside, and all our migrations 
were from the blue bed to the brown." And 
good-natured Mrs. Primrose, absorbed in making 
pickles and gooseberry wine, and with her ability 
to read any English book without much spelling, 
was an ideal minister's wife, before the days of 
missionary societies and general information. It 
was only her frivolous daughters who were 
brought into society, where there was talk of 
" pictures, taste, Shakespeare, and the musical 
glasses." These subjects not then being sup- 
posed to have any esoteric, religious significance, 
which it was the duty of the minister's wife to 
discover and disseminate, she busied herself with 
her domestic concerns without any haunting sense 
that she was neglecting the weightier matters. 
The vicar's favorite sermons were -in praise of 
matrimony, and he preached out of a happy 
experience. 



268 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

This peaceful scene bears the same relation to 
the trials that afterwards befell the good man 
that the prologue to the Book of Job does to the 
main part of it. Satan has his will with Job, so 
also it happened with Dr. Primrose. His banker 
absconds to Amsterdam, his daughter elopes with 
the wicked young squire who has the father 
thrown into prison, where he hears of the death 
of his wretched daughter who has been cast off 
by her betrayer. Troubles came thick and fast ; 
yet did not the vicar hurry, nor for a moment 
change the even tenor of his way. It was the 
middle of the eighteenth century, when piety was 
not treated as an elemental force. It did not 
lift up its voice and cry out against injustice. 
The church was the patient Griselda married 
to the state, and the clergyman was a teacher of 
resignation. 

Upon learning of his daughter's abduction, 
Dr. Primrose calls for his Bible and his staff, 
but he does not indulge in any haste unbecoming 
a clergyman. He finds time in his leisurely pur- 
suit to discourse most judiciously and at con- 
siderable length on the royal prerogative. He 
remembers his duty to the landed gentry, and on 



AMONG THE CLERGY 269 

his return from his unsuccessful quest remains 
several days to enjoy the squire's hospitality. 

Was ever poetical justice done with more 
placidity and completeness than in the prison 
scene ? The vicar, feeling that he is about to die, 
proceeds to address his fellow wretches. He falls 
naturally into an old sermon on the evils of free- 
thinking philosophy, that being the line of the 
least resistance. The discourse being finished, it 
is without surprise and yet with real pleasure 
that we learn that he does not die ; nor is his 
son, who was about to be hanged, hanged at 
all ; on the contrary, he appears not long after 
handsomely dressed in regimentals, and makes a 
modest and distant bow to Miss Wilmot, the 
heiress. That young lady had just arrived and 
was to be married next day to the wicked young 
squire, but on learning that young gentleman's 
perfidy, " ' Oh goodness ! ' cried the lovely girl, 
* how I have been deceived.' " The vicar's son 
being on the spot in his handsome regimentals, 
they are engaged in the presence of the company, 
and her affluent fortune is assured to this hitherto 
impecunious youth. And the daughter Olivia at 
the same time appears, it happening that she was 



270 THE GENTLE READER'S FRIENDS 

not dead after all, and that she has papers to 
show that she is the lawful wife of the young 
squire. And the banker who ran away with the 
vicar's property has been captured and the money 
restored. In the mean time — for happy acci- 
dents never come singly — the wretch who was 
in the act of carrying off the younger daughter 
Sophy has been foiled by the opportune arrival 
of Mr. Burchell. And best of all, Mr. Burchell 
proves not to be Mr. Burchell at all, but the cele- 
brated Sir William Thornhill, who is loyal to the 
constitution and a friend of the king. The Vicar 
is so far restored that he leaves the jail and par- 
takes of a bountiful repast, at which the company 
is " as merry as affluence and innocence could 
make them." 

Affluence as the providential, though some- 
times long delayed, reward of innocence was a 
favorite thesis of eighteenth-century piety. 

" It may sound very absurd," says the Gentle 
Reader, " to those who insist that all the happen- 
ings should be realistic ; but the Vicar of Wake- 
field is a very real character, nevertheless ; and 
he is the kind of a person for whom you would 
expect things to come out right in the end." 



itfwifettt 



"OO^JSVK^ 



< = JtjYHEN Falstaff boasted that he was not only 
"vjr' witty himself but the cause of wit in other 
men, he thought of himself more highly than he 
ought to have thought. The very fact that he 
was witty prevented him from the highest effi- 
ciency in stimulating others in that direction. 
The atmospheric currents of merriment move ir- 
resistibly toward a vacuum. Create a character 
altogether destitute of humor and the most slug- 
gish intelligence is stirred in the effort to fill the 
void. 

When we seek one who is the cause of wit in 
other men we pass by the jovial Falstaff and 
come to the preternaturally serious Don Quixote. 
Here we have not the chance outcropping of 
"the lighter vein," but the mother lode which 



272 QUIXOTISM 

the humorist finds inexhaustible. Don Quixote, 
with a lofty gravity which never for an instant 
relaxes, sets forth upon his mission. His is a 
soul impenetrable to mirth ; but as he rides he 
enlivens the whole country-side. Everywhere 
merry eyes are watching him ; boisterous laughter 
comes from the stables of village inns ; from cas- 
tle windows high-born ladies smile upon him ; the 
peasants in the fields stand gaping and holding 
their sides ; the countenances of the priests relax, 
and even the robbers salute the knight with mock 
courtesy. The dullest La Manchan is refreshed, 
and feels that he belongs to a choice coterie of 
wits. 

Cervantes tells us that he intended only a bur- 
lesque on the books of chivalry which were in 
vogue in his day. Had he done no more than he 
intended, he would have amused his own genera- 
tion and then have been forgotten. It would be 
too much to ask that we should read the endless 
tales about Amadis and Orlando, only that we 
might appreciate his clever parody of them. A 
satire lasts no longer than its object. It must 
shoot folly as it flies. To keep on shooting at a 
folly after it is dead is unsportsmanlike. 



QUIXOTISM 273 

But though we have not read the old books of 
chivalry, we have all come in contact with Quix- 
otism. I say we have all come in contact with it ; 
but let no selfish, conventional persons be afraid 
lest they catch it. They are immune. They may 
do many foolish things, but they cannot possibly 
be quixotic. Quixotism is a malady possible 
only to generous minds. 

Listen to Don Quixote as he makes his plea 
before the duke and duchess. " I have redressed 
grievances, righted the injured, chastised the in- 
solent, vanquished giants. My intentions have 
all been directed toward virtuous ends and to 
do good to all mankind. Now judge, most ex- 
cellent duke and duchess, whether a person who 
makes it his study to practice all this deserves to 
be called a fool." 

Our first instinct is to answer confidently, " Of 
course not ! Such a character as you describe is 
what we call a hero or a saint." But the person 
whose moral enthusiasm has been tempered with 
a knowledge of the queer combinations of good- 
ness and folly of which human nature is capable 
is more wary, and answers, " That depends." 

In the case of Don Quixote it depends very 



274 QUIXOTISM 

much on the kind of world he lives in. If it 
should happen that in this world there are giants 
standing truculently at their castle doors, and 
forlorn maidens at every cross-roads waiting to 
be rescued, we will grant him the laurels that are 
due to the hero. But if La Mancha should not 
furnish these materials for his prowess, — then 
we must take a different view of the case. 

The poor gentleman is mad, that is what the 
curate and the barber say ; but when we listen 
to his conversation we are in doubt. If the cu- 
rate could discourse half so eloquently he would 
have been a bishop long before this. The most 
that can be said is that he has some notions which 
are not in accordance with the facts, and that 
he acts accordingly ; but if that were a proof of 
madness there would not be enough sane persons 
in the world to make strait- jackets for the rest. 
His chief peculiarity is that he takes himself with 
a seriousness that is absolute. All of us have 
thoughts which would not bear the test of strict 
examination. There are vagrant fancies and 
random impulses which, fortunately for our re- 
putations, come to nothing. We are just on the 
verge of doing something absurd when we recog- 



QUIXOTISM 275 

nize the character of our proposed action ; and our 
neighbors lose a pleasure. "We comfort ourselves 
by the reflection that their loss is our gain. Don 
Quixote has no such inhibition ; he carries out 
his own ideas to their logical conclusion. 

The hero of Cervantes had muddled his wits 
by the reading of romances. Almost any kind 
of printed matter may have the same effect if one 
is not able to distinguish between what he has 
read and what he has actually experienced. One 
may read treatises on political economy until he 
mistakes the " economic man " who acts only ac- 
cording to the rules of enlightened self-interest 
for a creature of flesh and blood. One may read 
so many articles on the Rights of Women that he 
mistakes a hard-working American citizen who 
spends his summer in a down-town office, in order 
that his wife and daughter may go to Europe, for 
that odious monster the Tyrant Man. It is pos- 
sible to read the Society columns of the daily 
newspapers till the reader does not know good 
society when he sees it. An estimable teacher in 
the public schools may devote herself so assidu- 
ously to pedagogical literature that she mistakes 
her schoolroom for a psychological laboratory, 



276 QUIXOTISM 

with results that are sufficiently tragical. There 
are excellent divines so learned in the history of 
the early church that they believe that semi-pela- 
gianism is still the paramount issue. There were 
few men whose minds were, in general, better bal- 
anced than Mr. Gladstone's, yet what a fine ex- 
ample of Quixotism was that suggested by Queen 
Victoria's remark : " Mr. Gladstone always ad- 
dresses me as if I were a public meeting." To 
address a woman as if she were a public meeting 
is the mistake of one who had devoted himself too 
much to political speeches. 

A thoroughly healthy mind can endure a good 
deal of reading and a considerable amount of 
speculation with impunity. It does not take the 
ideas thus derived too seriously. It is continu- 
ally making allowances, and every once in a while 
there is a general clearance. It is like a gun 
which expels the old cartridge as the new shot is 
fired. When the delicate mechanism for the ex- 
pulsion of exploded opinions gets out of order the 
mind becomes the victim of " fixed ideas." The 
best idea becomes dangerous when it gets stuck. 
When the fixed ideas are of a noble and disin- 
terested character we have a situation which ex- 



QUIXOTISM 277 

cites at once the admiration of the moralist and 
the apprehension of the alienist. Perhaps this 
border-land between spiritual reality and intellec- 
tual hallucination belongs neither to the moralist 
nor to the alienist, but to the wise humorist. He 
laughs, but there is no bitterness or scorn in his 
laughter. It is mellow and human-hearted. 

The world is full of people who have a faculty 
which enables them to believe whatever they wish. 
Thought is not, for them, a process which may 
go on indefinitely, a work in which they are col- 
laborating with the universe. They do it all by 
themselves. It is the definite transaction of mak- 
ing up their minds. When the mind is made up 
it closes with a snap. After that, for an unwel- 
come idea to force an entrance would be a well- 
nigh impossible feat of intellectual burglary. 

"We sometimes speak of stubborn facts. Non- 
sense ! A fact is a mere babe when compared 
with a stubborn theory. Let the theory, however 
extravagant in its origin, choose its own ground, 
and intrench itself in the mind of a well-meaning 
lady or gentleman of an argumentative turn, and 
I '11 warrant you it can hold its own against a 
whole regiment of facts. 



278 QUIXOTISM 

Did you ever attend a meeting of the society 
for the — perhaps I had better not mention the 
name of the society, lest I tread on your favorite 
Quixotism. Suffice it to say that it has a noble 
purpose. It aims at nothing less than the com- 
plete transformation of human society, by the use 
of means which, to say the least, seem quite in- 
adequate. 

After the minutes of the last meeting have 
been read, and the objects of the society have 
been once more stated with much detail, there is 
an opportunity for discussion from the floor. 

" Perhaps there is some one who may give some 
new suggestions, or who may desire to ask a 
question." 

You have observed what happens to the unfor- 
tunate questioner. What a sorry exhibition he 
makes of himself ! No sooner does he open his 
mouth than every one recognizes his intellectual 
feebleness. He seems unable to grasp the simplest 
ideas. He stumbles at the first premise, and lies 
sprawling at the very threshold of the argument. 
" If what I have taken for granted be true," says 
the chairman, " do not all the fine things I have 
been telling you about follow necessarily ? " 



QUIXOTISM 279 

" But," murmurs the questioner, " the things 
you take for granted are just what trouble me. 
They don't correspond to my experience." 

" Poor, feeble-minded questioner ! " cry the 
members of the society, " to think that he is not 
even able to take things for granted ! And then 
to set up his experience against our constitution 
and by-laws ! " 

We sometimes speak of an inconsequent, 
harum-scarum person, who is always going off 
after new ideas, as quixotic. But true Quixotism 
is grave, self-contained, conservative. Within 
its own sphere it is accurate and circumstantial. 
There is no absurdity in its mental processes ; all 
that is concealed in its assumptions. Granted 
the reality of the scheme of knight-errantry, and 
Don Quixote becomes a solid, dependable man 
who will conscientiously carry it out. There is 
no danger of his going off into vagaries. He has 
a mind that will keep the roadway. 

He is a sound critic, intolerant of minor incon- 
gruities. When the puppet-player tells about 
the bells ringing in the mosques of the Moorish 
town, the knight is quick to correct him. " There 
you are out, boy ; the Moors have no bells ; they 



280 QUIXOTISM 

only use kettledrums. Your ringing of bells in 
Sansuena is a mere absurdity." Such absurdi- 
ties were not amusing ; they were offensive to 
his serious taste. 

The quixotic mind loves greatly the appearance 
of strict logic. It is satisfied if one statement is 
consistent with another statement ; whether either 
is consistent with the facts of the case is a curi- 
ous matter which it does not care to investigate. 
So much does it love Logic that it welcomes even 
that black sheep of the logical family, the Fal- 
lacy ; and indeed the impudent fellow, with all 
his irresponsible ways, does bear a family resem- 
blance which is very deceiving. Above all is 
there delight in that alluring mental exercise 
known as the argument in a circle. It is an in- 
tellectual merry-go-round. A hobby-horse on 
rockers is sport for tame intelligences, but a 
hobby that can be made to go round is exciting. 
You may see grave divines and astute metaphy- 
sicians and even earnest sociologists rejoicing in 
the swift sequence of their own ideas, as conclur 
sion follows premise and premise conclusion, in 
endless gyration. How the daring riders clutch 
the bridles and exultingly watch the flying manes 



QUIXOTISM 281 

of their steeds ! They have the sense of getting 
somewhere, and at the same time the comfortable 
assurance that that somewhere is the very place 
from which they started. 

" Did n't we tell you so ! " they cry. " Here 
we are again. Our arguments must be true, for 
we can't get away from them." 

Your ordinary investigator is a disappointing 
fellow. His opinions are always at the mercy of 
circumstances over which he has no control. He 
cuts his coat according to his cloth, and some- 
times when his material runs short his intellectual 
garments are more scanty than decency allows. 
Sometimes after a weary journey into the Un- 
known he will return with scarcely an opinion to 
his back. Not so with the quixotist. His opin- 
ions not being dependent on evidence, he does not 
measure different degrees of probability. Half 
a reason is as good as a whole one, for the result 
in any case is perfect assurance. All things con- 
spire, in most miraculous fashion, to confirm him 
in his views. That other men think differently 
he admits, he even welcomes their skepticism as 
a foil to his faith. His imperturbable tolerance 
is like that of some knight who, conscious of his 



282 QUIXOTISM 

coat of mail, good-humoredly exposes himself to 
tlie assaults of the rabble. It amuses them, and 
does him no harm. 

When Don Quixote had examined Mambrino's 
enchanted helmet, his candor compelled him to 
listen to Sancho's assertion that it was only a 
barber's basin. He was not disposed to contro- 
vert the evidence of the senses, but he had a suf- 
ficient explanation ready. " This enchanted hel- 
met, by some strange accident, must have fallen 
into the possession of one who, ignorant of its true 
value as a helmet, and seeing it to be of the purest 
gold, hath inconsiderately melted down the one 
half for lucre's sake, and of the other half made 
this, which, as thou sayest, doth indeed look like 
a barber's basin ; but to me, who know what it 
really is, its transformation is of no importance, 
for I will have it so repaired in the first town 
where there is a smith that it shall not be sur- 
passed or even equaled. In the mean time I will 
wear it as I can, for something is better than 
nothing, and it will be sufficient to defend me 
from stones." 

Where have you heard that line of argument, 
so satisfying to one who has already made up his 



QUIXOTISM 283 

mind ? Yesterday, it runs, we had several excel- 
lent reasons for the opinion which we hold. Since 
then, owing to investigations which we impru- 
dently entered into before we knew where we 
were coming out, all our reasons have been over- 
thrown. This, however, makes not the slightest 
difference. It rather strengthens our general 
position, as it is no longer dependent on any par- 
ticular evidence for its support. 

We prate of the teaching of Experience. But 
did you ever know Experience to teach anything 
to a person whose ideas had set up an independ- 
ent government of their own ? The stern old 
dame has been much overrated as an instructor. 
Her pedagogical method is very primitive. Her 
instruction is administered by a series of hard 
whacks which the pupil is expected to interpret 
for himself. That something is wrong is evident ; 
but what is it? It is only now and then that 
some bright pupil says, " That means that I made 
a mistake." As for persons of a quixotic dispo- 
sition, the most adverse experience only confirms 
their pre-conceptions. At most the wisdom 
gained is prudential. After Don Quixote had 
made his first unfortunate trial of his pasteboard 



284 QUIXOTISM 

visor, " to secure it against like accidents in fu- 
ture he made it anew, and fenced it with thin 
plates of iron so skillfully that he had reason to 
be satisfied with his work, and so, without fur- 
ther experiment, resolved that it should pass for 
a good and sufficient helmet." 

One is tempted to linger over that moment 
when Quixote ceased to experiment and began to 
dogmatize. What was the reason of his sudden 
dread of destructive criticism ? Was he quite 
sincere ? Did he really believe that his helmet 
was now cutlass proof ? 

For myself, I have no doubts of his knightly 
honor and of his transparent candor. He cer- 
tainly believed that he believed ; though under 
the circumstances he felt that it was better to 
take no further risks. 

In his admirable discourse with Don Fernando 
on the comparative merits of arms and litera- 
ture, he describes the effects of the invention of 
gunpowder. 

" When I reflect on this I am almost tempted 
to say that in my heart I repent of having adopted 
the profession of knight-errantry in so detestable 
an age as we live in. For though no peril can 



QUIXOTISM 285 

make me fear, still it gives me some uneasiness 
to think that powder and lead may rob me of 
the opportunity of making myself famous and 
renowned throughout the world by the might of 
my arm and the edge of my sword." 

There is here a bit of uneasiness, such as comes 
to any earnest person who perceives that the times 
are out of joint. Still the doubt does not go very 
deep. In an age of artillery knight-errantry is 
doubtless more difficult, but it does not seem im- 
possible. 

It is the same feeling that must come now and 
then to a gallant twentieth-century Jacobite who 
meets with his fellow conspirators in an Ameri- 
can city, to lament the untimely taking off of the 
blessed martyr King Charles, and to plot for the 
return of the House of Stuart. The circum- 
stances under which they meet are not congenial. 
The path of loyalty is not what it once was. A 
number of things have happened since 1649 ; still 
they may be treated as negligible quantities. It 
is a fine thing to sing about the king coming to 
his own again. 

" But what if there is n't any king to speak 
of?" 



286 QUIXOTISM 

" Well, at any rate, the principle is the 
same." 

I occasionally read a periodical devoted to the 
elevation of mankind by means of a combination 
of deep breathing and concentrated thought. The 
object is one in which I have long been interested. 
The means used are simple. The treatment con- 
sists in lying on one's back for fifteen minutes 
every morning with arms outstretched. Then 
one must begin to exhale self and inhale power. 
The directions are given with such exactness that 
no one with reasonably good lungs can go astray. 
The treatment is varied according to the need. 
One may in this way breathe in, not only health 
and love, but, what may seem to some more im- 
portant, wealth. 

The treatment for chronic impecuniosity is 
particularly interesting. The patient, as he lies 
on his back and breathes deeply, repeats, " I am 
Wealth." This sets the currents of financial 
success moving in his direction. 

One might suppose that a theory of finance 
so different from that of the ordinary workaday 
world would be surrounded by an air of weirdness 
or strangeness. Not at all. Everything is most 



QUIXOTISM 287 

matter of fact. The Editor is evidently a sensi- 
ble person when it comes to practical details, and, 
on occasion, gives admirable advice. 

A correspondent writes : " I have tried your 
treatment for six months, and I am obliged to 
say that I am harder up than ever before. What 
do you advise?" 

It is one of those obstinate cases which are met 
with now and then, and which test the real char- 
acter of the practitioner. The matter is treated 
with admirable frankness, and yet with a whole- 
some optimism. The patient is reminded that 
six months is a short time, and one must not ex- 
pect too quick results. A slow, sure progress is 
better, and the effects are more lasting. This is 
not the, first case that has been slow in yielding 
to treatment. Still it may be better to make a 
slight change. The formula, " I am Wealth," 
may be too abstract, though it usually has worked 
well. A more concrete thought might possibly 
be more effective. Why not try, remembering, 
of course, to continue the same breathings, " I am 
Andrew Carnegie ? " 

Then the practitioner adds a bit of advice which 
was certainly worth the moderate fee charged : 



288 QUIXOTISM 

" When the exercises are over, ask yourself what 
Andrew would do next. Andrew would hustle." 

A slight acquaintance with the pseudo sciences 
which are in vogue at the present day reveals a 
world to which only the genius of Cervantes could 
do justice. We see Absurdity clothed, and in its 
right mind. It is formally correct, punctiliously 
exact, completely serious, and withal high-minded. 
Until it comes in contact with the actual world 
we do not realize that it is absurd. 

Religion and medicine have always furnished 
tempting fields for persons of the quixotic temper. 
Perhaps it is because their professed objects are 
so high, and perhaps also because their achieve- 
ments fall so far below what we have been led to 
expect. Neither spiritual nor mental health is 
so robust as to satisfy us with the usual efforts 
in their behalf. Sin and sickness are continual 
challenges. Some one ought to abolish them. 
An eager hearing is given to any one who claims 
to be able to do so. The temptation is great for 
those who do not perceive the difference between 
words and things to answer the demands. 

It is not necessary to go for examples either to 
fanatics or quacks. Not to take too modern an 



QUIXOTISM 289 

instance, there was Bishop Berkeley ! He was a 
true philosopher, an earnest Christian, and withal 
a man of sense, and yet he was the author of 
" Siris, a Chain of Philosophical Reflections and 
Inquiries concerning the Virtues of Tar Water, 
and divers other Subjects connected together, and 
arising One from Another." It is one of those 
works which are the cause of wit in other men. 
It is so learned, so exhaustive, so pious, and the 
author takes it with such utter seriousness ! 

Tar is the good bishop's Dulcinea. All his 
powers are enlisted in the work of proclaiming 
the matchless virtues of this mistress of his 
imagination, who is " black but comely." Our 
minds are prepared by a lyric outburst : — 

" Hail, vulgar Juice of never-fading Pine ! 
Cheap as thou art ! thy virtues are divine, 
To show them and explain (such is thy store), 
There needs much modern and much ancient Lore." 

For this great work the author is well equipped. 
Plato, Aristotle, Pliny, and the rest of the an- 
cients appear as vanquished knights compelled to 
do honor to my Lady Tar. 

Other specifics are allowed to have their vir- 
tues, but they grow pale before this paragon. 



290 QUIXOTISM 

Common soap has its admirers ; they are treated 
magnanimously, but compelled to surrender at 
last. " Soap is allowed to be cleansing, attenuat- 
ing, opening, resolving, sweetening ; it is pectoral, 
vulnerary, diuretic, and hath other good quali- 
ties ; which are also found in tar water. . . . Tar 
water therefore is a soap, and as such hath all the 
medicinal qualities of soaps." To those who put 
their faith in vinegar a like argument is made. 
It is shown that tar water is not only a superior 
kind of soap, but also a sublimated sort of vine- 
gar ; in fact, it appears to be all things to all men. 
To those who incline to the philosophy of the 
ancient fire-worshipers a special argument is 
made. " I had a long Time entertained an Opin- 
ion agreeable to the Sentiments of many ancient 
Philosophers, that Fire may be regarded as the 
Animal Spirit of this visible World. And it 
seemed to me that the attracting and secreting of 
this Fire in the various Pores, Tubes, and Ducts 
of Vegetables, did impart their specifick Virtues 
to each kind, that this same Light, or Fire, was 
the immediate Cause of Sense and Motion, and 
consequently of Life and Health to animals ; that 
on Account of this Solar Light or Fire, Phoebus 



QUIXOTISM 291 

was in the ancient Mythology reputed the God of 
Medicine. Which Light as it is leisurely intro- 
duced, and fixed in the viscid juice of old Firs 
and Pines, so setting it free in Part, that is, the 
changing its viscid for a volatile Vehicle, which 
may mix with Water, and convey it throughout 
the Habit copiously and inoffensively, would be 
of infinite Use in Physic." It appears therefore 
that tar water is not only a kind of soap, but also 
a kind of fire. 

Yet is not Quixote himself more careful to 
avoid all appearance of extravagance ? The 
author shrinks from imposing conclusions on 
another. After an elaborate argument which 
moves irresistibly to one conclusion, he stops 
short. " This regards the Possibility of a Panacea 
in general ; as for Tar Water in particular, I do 
not say it is a Panacea, I only suspect it to be 
so." Yet he must be a churlish reader who could 
go with him so far and then refuse to take the 
next step. Nor can a right-minded person be 
indifferent to the moral argument in favor of 
"Tar Water, Temperance, and Early Hours." 
If tar water is to be known by the company it 
keeps, it is to be commended. 



292 QUIXOTISM 

There is a great advantage in taking our ex- 
ample from another age than ours. Our enjoy- 
ment of the bishop's Quixotism does not cast 
discredit on any similar hobby of our own day. 
" However," as the author of Siris remarked, " it 
is hoped they will not condemn one Man's Tar 
Water for another Man's Pill or Drop, any more 
than they would hang one Man for another's 
having stole a Horse." 

Indeed, of all quixotic notions the most extreme 
is that of those who think that Quixotism can be 
overcome by any direct attack. It is a state of 
mind which must be accepted as we accept any 
other curious fact. As well tilt against a cloud 
as attempt to overcome it by argument. It is a 
part of the myth-making faculty of the human 
mind. A myth is a quixotic notion which takes 
possession of multitudes rather than of a single 
person. Everybody accepts it ; nobody knows 
why. You can nail a lie, but you cannot nail a 
myth, — there is nothing to nail it to. It is of 
no use to deny it, for that only gives it a greater 
vogue. 

I have great sympathy for all mythical char- 
acters. It is possible that Hercules may have 



QUIXOTISM 293 

been an amiable Greek gentleman of sedentary- 
habits. Some one may have started the story 
of his labors as a joke. In the next town it 
was taken seriously, and the tale set forth on its 
travels. After it once had been generally ac- 
cepted, what could Hercules do? What good 
would it have been for him to say, " There 's not 
a word of truth in what everybody is saying about 
me. I am as averse to a hard day's work as any 
gentleman of my social standing in the commu- 
nity. They are turning me into a sun-myth, and 
mixing up my private affairs with the signs of 
the zodiac ! I won't stand it ! " 

Bless me ! he would have to stand it ! His 
words would but add fuel to the flame of admi- 
ration. What a hero he is ; so strong and so 
modest ! He has already forgotten those feats 
of strength ! It is ever so with greatness. To 
Hercules it was all mere child's play. All the 
more need that we keep the stories alive in order 
to hand them down to our children. Perhaps we 
had better touch them up a bit so that they may 
be more interesting to the little dears. And so 
would begin a new cycle of myths. 

After Socrates had once gained the reputation 



294 QUIXOTISM 

for superlative wisdom, do you think it did any 
good for him to go about proclaiming that he 
knew nothing ? He was suspected of having 
some ulterior design. Nobody would believe him 
except Xanthippe. 

When after hearing strange noises in the night 
Don Quixote sallies forth only to discover that 
the sounds come from fulling hammers instead of 
from giants, he rebukes the ill-timed merriment 
of his squire. " Come hither, merry sir ! Sup- 
pose these mill hammers had really been some 
perilous adventure, have I not given proof of the 
courage requisite to undertake and achieve it? 
Am I, being a knight, to distinguish between 
sounds, and to know which are and which are not 
those of a fulling mill, more especially as I have 
never seen any fulling mills in my life?" 

If the mill hammers could only be transformed 
into giants, how easy the path of reform ! for it 
would satisfy the primitive instinct to go out and 
kill something. I have heard a temperance ora- 
tor denounce the Demon Drink so roundly that 
every one in the audience was ready to destroy 
the monster on sight. The solution of the liquor 



QUIXOTISM 293 

problem, however, was quite a different matter. 
The young patriot who conceives of the money 
power under the terrifying image of an octopus 
resolves at once to give it battle. When elected 
to the legislature he meets many smooth-spoken 
gentlemen whose schemes are so plausible that 
he readily assents to them, — but not an octopus 
does he see. Yet I believe that were he to see an 
octopus he would slay it. 

Perhaps there is no better test of a person's 
nature than his attitude toward Quixotism. The 
man of coarse, unfriendly humor sees in it nothing 
but a broad farce. He greets the misadventures 
of Don Quixote with a loud guffaw. What a fool 
he was not to know the difference between an 
ordinary inn and a castle ! 

There are persons of a sensitive and refined 
disposition to whom it is all a tragedy, exquisitely 
painful to contemplate. Alas, poor gentleman, 
with all his lofty ideals, to be so buffeted by a 
world unworthy of him ! 

But this refinement of sentiment comes peril- 
ously near to sentimentalism. Cervantes had the 
more wholesome attitude. He appreciated the 



296 QUIXOTISM 

valor of Don Quixote. It was genuine, though 
the knight, owing to circumstances beyond his 
own control, had been compelled to make his 
visor out of pasteboard. He had heroism of soul ; 
but what of it ! There was plenty more where it 
came from. A man who had fought at Lepanto, 
and endured years of Algerine captivity, was not 
inclined to treat manly virtue as if it were a rare 
and delicate fabric that must be preserved in a 
glass case. It was amply able to take care of 
itself. He knew that he could n't laugh genuine 
chivalry away, even if he tried. It could stand 
not only hard knocks from its foes, but any 
amount of raillery from its friends. 

The bewildered soldier who mistakes a harm- 
less camp follower for the enemy must expect 
to endure the gibes of his comrades ; yet no one 
doubts that he would have acquitted himself nobly 
if the enemy had appeared. The rough humor 
of the camp is a part of its wholesome discipline. 

Quixotism is a combination of goodness and 
folly. To enjoy it one must be able to appreciate 
them both at the same time. It is a pleasure 
possible only to one who is capable of having 
mixed feelings. 



QUIXOTISM 297 

When we consider the faculty which many- 
good people have of believing things that are not 
so, and ignoring the plainest facts and laws of 
nature, we are sometimes alarmed over the future 
of society. If any of the Quixotisms which are 
now in vogue should get themselves established, 
what then ? 

Fortunately there is small need of anxiety. 
When the landsman first ventures on the waves 
he observes with alarm the keeling over of the 
boat under the breeze, for he expects the ten- 
dency to be followed to its logical conclusion. 
Fortunately for the equilibrium of society, ten- 
dencies which are viewed with alarm are seldom 
carried to their logical conclusion. They are met 
by other tendencies before the danger point is 
reached, and the balance is restored. 

The factor which is overlooked by those who 
fear the ascendency of any quixotic notion is the 
existence of the average man. This individual 
is not a striking personality, but he holds the 
balance of power. Before any extravagant idea 
can establish itself it must convert the aver- 
age man. He is very susceptible, and takes a 
suggestion so readily that it seems to prophesy 



298 QUIXOTISM 

the complete overthrow of the existing order of 
things. But was ever a conversion absolute ? 
The best theologians say no. A great deal of 
the old Adam is always left over. "When the 
average man takes up with a quixotic notion, 
only so much of it is practically wrought out 
as he is able to comprehend. The old Adam 
of common sense continually asserts itself. The 
natural corrective of Quixotism is Sancho-Pan- 
zaism. The solemn knight, with his head full of 
visionary plans, is followed by a squire who is as 
faithful as his nature will permit. Sancho has 
no theories, and makes no demands on the world. 
He leaves that sort of thing to his master. He 
has the fatalism which belongs to ignorant good 
nature, and the tolerance which is found in easy- 
going persons who have neither ideals nor nerves. 
He has no illusions, though he has all the credu- 
lity of ignorance. 

He belongs to the established order of things, 
and can conceive no other. When knight-errantry 
is proposed to him, he reduces that also to the 
established order. He takes it up as an honest 
livelihood, and rides forth in search of forlorn 
maidens with the same contented jog with which 



QUIXOTISM 299 

he formerly went to the village mill. When it 
is explained that faithful squires become gover- 
nors of islands he approves of the idea, and be- 
gins to cherish a reasonable ambition. Knight- 
errantry is brought within the sphere of practical 
politics. Sancho has no stomach for adventures. 
When his master warns him against attacking 
knights, until such time as he has himself reached 
their estate, he answers : — 

" Never fear, I '11 be sure to obey your worship 
in that, I '11 warrant you ; for I ever loved peace 
and quietness, and never cared to thrust myself 
into frays and quarrels." 

When Sancho becomes governor of his snug, 
land-locked island, there is not a trace of Quix- 
otism in his executive policy. The laws of Chiv- 
alry have no recognition in his administration ; 
and everything is carried on with most admirable 
common sense. 

It is an experience which is quite familiar to 
the readers of history. " All who knew Sancho," 
moralizes the author, " wondered to hear him talk 
so sensibly, and began to think that offices and 
places of trust inspire some men with understand- 
ing, as they stupefy and confound others." 



300 QUIXOTISM 

Mother wit has a great way of evading the con- 
sequences of theoretical absurdities. Natural law 
takes care of itself, and preserves the balance. 
So long as Don Quixote can get no other follower 
than Sancho Panza, we need not be alarmed. 
There is no call for a society for the Preservation 
of Windmills. 

After all, there is an ambiguity about Quixot- 
ism. They laugh best who laugh last ; and we 
are not sure that satire has the last word. Was 
Don Quixote as completely mistaken as he 
seemed ? He mistook La Mancha for a land of 
romance, and wandered through it as if it were 
an enchanted country. 

The Commentator explains to us that in this 
lay the jest, for no part of Spain was so vulgarly 
commonplace. Its villages were destitute of 
charm, and its landscape of beauty. La Mancha 
was a name for all that was unromantic. 

" I cannot make it appear so," says the Gentle 
Reader, who has come under the spell of Cer- 
vantes. " Don Quixote seems to be wandering 
through the most romantic country in the world. 
I can see 



QUIXOTISM 301 

' The long, straight line of the highway, 
The distant town that seems so near, 



White crosses in the mountain pass, 
Mules gay with tassels, the loud din 

Of muleteers, the tethered ass 

That crops the dusty wayside grass, 

And cavaliers with spurs of brass 
Alighting at the inn ; 

White hamlets hidden in fields of wheat, 

White sunshine flooding square and street, 
Dark mountain-ranges, at whose feet 
The river-beds are dry with heat, — 
All was a dream to me.' 

" Through this enchanted country it is plea- 
sant to wander about in irresponsible fashion, 
climbing mountains, loitering in secluded valleys, 
where shepherds and shepherdesses still make 
love in Arcadian fashion, meeting with monks, 
merchants, muleteers, and fine gentlemen, and 
coming in the evening to some castle where one 
is lulled to sleep by the splash of fountains and 
the tinkle of guitars ; and if it should turn out 
that the castle is only an inn, — why, to lodge 
in an inn of La Mancha would be a romantic 
experience ! " 



302 QUIXOTISM 

The Spain of the sixteenth century is to us as 
truly a land of romance as any over which a 
knight-errant roamed. It seems just suited for 
heroic adventure. 

Some day our quixotic characters may appear 
to the future reader thus magically conformed to 
the world they live in, or rather, the world may 
be transformed by their ideals. 

"They do seem strange to us," the Gentle 
Reader of that day will say, " but then we must 
remember that they lived in the romantic dawn 
of the twentieth century." 



t 



-^r-eXtfXS'x— 



If N the affairs of the mind we are all " Indian 
givers." We will part with our most cherished 
convictions for a merely nominal consideration, 
such as "for the sake of the argument," — even 
when we do not really care for arguments. But 
let no one be deceived into thinking that this is 
the end. Renunciation usually has some mental 
reservation, or at least some saving ambiguity. 

You may see a saint, in his enthusiasm for 
disinterested virtue, give up all claim to personal 
happiness. But does he expect to be taken at his 
word and to live miserably ever after ? Not he ! 
Already, if he be a true saint, he has begun to 
enjoy the beatific vision. 



304 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

I know a teacher of religion who is inclined to 
rebel against what seems to him to be the undue 
emphasis upon faith. For himself, it seems a 
wholesome thing to do a little doubting now and 
then, and he looks upon this as a religious exer- 
cise. He affirms that the characteristic attitudes 
of the spiritual man can be expressed in terms 
of skepticism as well as of belief. It is all one 
whether the matter be put positively or nega- 
tively. Materialism he treats as a form of dog- 
matism based on the appearance of things. The 
religious mind is incredulous of this explanation 
of the universe and subjects it to a destructive 
criticism. The soul of man is full of " obstinate 
questionings of sense and outward things." Yet 
this same person, when he forgets his argument, 
is apt to talk like the rest of us. After all, it is 
some kind of faith that he is after, even when he 
pursues it by the methods of skepticism. In his 
most radical moods he never lets his convictions 
slip away from him ; at least, they never go so 
far away that he cannot get them again. 

In like manner I must confess that I am an 
Indian giver. In giving over to Science all claim 
to the domain of Knowledge, and reserving to my 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 305 

friend the Gentle Reader only the right of way- 
over the picturesque but less fruitful fields of 
Ignorance, I was actuated by the purest motives. 
At the time it seemed very magnanimous, and, 
moreover, it saved the trouble of a doubtful con- 
test. 

But now that so much has been given away, I 
am visited by compunctions, and, if it is not too 
late, I will take back part of the too generous 
gift. Let us make a distinction, and instead of 
treating knowledge as if it were indivisible, let 
us speak, after the manner of Swedenborg, of 
knowledges. The greater number of knowledges 
we will make over without question to Science 
and Philosophy ; the knowledges which are con- 
cerned with laws and forces and with the multi- 
tudinous facts which are capable of classification. 
But for the Gentle Reader and his kind let us 
reserve the claim to a knowledge of some things 
which cannot be classified. I hardly believe that 
they will be missed; they are not likely to be 
included in any scientific inventory ; their value 
is chiefly in personal association. 

There is a knowledge of persons as well as of 
things, and in particular there is a knowledge 



306 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

of certain persons to whom one is drawn in close 
friendship. Emerson, in his essay on Milton, 
speaks of those who come to the poet with " inti- 
mate knowledge and delight." It is, after all, 
convenient to treat this feeling of delightful inti- 
macy as a kind of knowledge. If it is not that, 
what is it ? 

The peculiarity of this kind of knowledge is 
that it is impossible to formulate it ; and that the 
very attempt to do so is an offence. The unpar- 
donable sin against friendship is to merge the 
person in a class. Think of an individual as an 
adult Caucasian, " an inhabitant of North Amer- 
ica, belonging to the better classes," as to religion 
a moderate churchman, in politics a Republican, 
and you may accumulate a number of details 
interesting enough in a stranger. You may in 
this way " know where to place him." But if you 
do actually place him there, and treat him ac- 
cordingly, he has ceased to be your friend. 

A friend is unique. He belongs to no cate- 
gories. He is not a case, nor the illustration 
of a thesis. Your interest is neither pathologi- 
cal nor anthropological nor statistical. You are 
concerned not with what he is like, but with what 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 307 

he is. There is an element of jealous exclusive- 
ness in such knowledge. 

In the Song of Songs, after the ecstatic praise 
of the beloved, the question is asked : — 

" What is thy beloved more than any other beloved, that thou 
dost so adjure us ? " 

The answer is a description of his personal 
perfections : — 

" My beloved is white and ruddy, 

His locks are bushy, and black as a raven. 
His eyes are like doves beside the -water brooks. 

His aspect is like Lebanon, excellent as the cedars, 
His mouth is most sweet : yea, he is altogether lovely. 
This is my beloved, and this is my friend, 
O daughters of Jerusalem." 

Do you think that the daughters of Jerusalem 
would be so tactless as to reply that they had 
seen a number of handsome youths with bushy 
black hair and languishing eyes and fine forms, 
and that they represented an admirable type of 
manly beauty. That would be to confess that 
they had not seen the beloved, for he was unlike 
all others. " My beloved is marked out with a 
banner among ten thousand." 



308 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

The knowledge that is required is not contained 
in a catalogue of the points in which he resem- 
bles the nine thousand nine hundred and ninety- 
nine ; it is a recognition of the incommunicable 
grace that is his own. 

Even in ordinary social intercourse the most 
delicate compliment is to treat the person with 
whom you are talking as an exception to all rules. 
That he is a clergyman or a commercial traveler 
tells you nothing of his inner life. That is left 
for him to reveal, if it so pleases him. Even a 
king grows tired of being addressed in terms 
appropriate to royalty. It is a relief to travel 
incognito, and he is flattered when he is assured 
that no one suspects his station in life. It makes 
him feel that he is not like the ordinary run of 
kings. 

No one likes to be pigeon-holed or reduced to 
a formula. We resent being classed as old or 
middle-aged or young. Why should we be con- 
founded with our coevals ? We may not be any 
better than they are ; but we are different. Nor 
is it pleasant to have our opinions treated as if 
they were the necessary product of social forces. 
There is something offensive in the curiosity of 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 309 

those who are all the time asking how we came 
by our ideas. What if they do bear a general 
resemblance to those of the honest people who 
belong to our party and who read the same 
newspaper. We do not care to be reminded of 
these chance coincidences. Because one has found 
it convenient and economical to buy a ready-made 
suit of clothing, it does not follow that he is will- 
ing to wear the tag which contains the statement 
of the price and size. These labels were very 
useful so long as the garment was kept in stock 
by the dealer, but the information that they convey 
is now irrelevant. 

This sensitiveness in regard to personal identity 
is strangely lacking in many modern students of 
literature. They treat the man of genius as a 
phenomenon, to be explained by other phenomena 
and used to illustrate a general law. They love 
to deal in averages and aggregates. They de- 
scribe minutely the period to which a writer be- 
longs, its currents of thought, its intellectual 
limitations, and its generally received notions. 
With a knowledge of antecedent conditions there 
is the expectancy of a certain type of man as the 
result. Our minds are prepared for some one 



310 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

who resembles the composite photograph which 
is first presented to us. We are, for example, 
given an elaborate account of the Puritan move- 
ment in England. We form a conception of what 
the Puritan was, and then we are introduced to 
Milton. Our preconceptions stand in the way of 
personal sympathy. 

The method of the Gentle Header is more 
direct. He is fortunate enough to have read 
Milton before he has read much about him, 
and he returns to the reading with ever fresh 
delight. He does not think of him as belonging 
to a past age. He is a perpetual contemporary. 
The seventeenth century gave color to his words, 
but it did not limit his genius. 

Seventeenth century Independency might be, 
as a general thing, lacking in grace, but when we 
turn away from Praise-God-Barebones to John 
Milton we find it transformed into a — 

" divine philosophy, 
Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose, 
But musical as is Apollo's lute, 
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets." 

Into its austere beauty, into its wide free spaces, 
into its sensuous charms, no one but Milton can 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 311 

conduct us. We must follow not as those who 
know beforehand what is to be seen or heard, but 
as those who are welcomed by a generous house- 
holder who brings out of his treasures things new 
and old. 

We come upon a sublime spirit — 

" Pure as the naked heaTens, majestic, free." 

That is Milton ; but it is Milton also who can 
sing of — 

" Jest and youthful Jollity, 
Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles, 
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles 
Such as hang 1 on Hebe's cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek, 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
And Laughter holding both his sides." 

If this be Puritanism, it is Puritanism with a 
difference. Did any one in a few words give 
such a picture of mirth — 

" So buxom, blithe, and debonair ? " 

Was this the real Milton ? Why not ? His 
radiant youth was as real as his blindness and 
his old age. And Milton the political pamphlet- 
eer was real too, though his language was not 
always that which might have been expected 



312 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

from the author of " Paradise Lost." We pass 
lightly over pages of vituperation which any one 
might have written, and then come upon splen- 
did passages which could have come from him 
alone. The sentiment of democratic equality is 
invested with a dignity which makes all the pre- 
tensions of privileged orders seem vulgar. Here 
is the Milton who is invoked to — 

" Give us manners, virtue, freedom, power ! " 

In these moments we become aware of a man who 
was not to be explained by any general rule. 

To one who takes delight in the personality 
of Milton, even " Paradise Lost " is not a piece of 
unmitigated sublimity. It is full of self-revela- 
tions. The reader who has come to share Mil- 
ton's passion for personal liberty and scorn for 
a " fugitive and cloistered virtue " is curious to 
know how he will treat his new theme. In the 
" Areopagitica " he had frankly treated the " Fall 
of Man " as a " fall upward." " Good and evil 
we know in the field of this world grow up to- 
gether almost inseparably; and the knowledge 
of good is so involved and interwoven with the 
knowledge of evil, and in so many cunning re- 
semblances hardly to be discerned, that those 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 313 

confused seeds which were imposed on Psyche 
as an increased labor to cull out and sort asun- 
der, were not more intermixt. And perhaps 
that is the doom which Adam fell into of know- 
ing good and evil; that is to say, of knowing 
good by evil. As therefore the state of man 
now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, 
what continence to forbear without the know- 
ledge of evil. . . . That virtue, therefore, which 
is but a youngling in the contemplation of evil, 
and knows not the utmost that vice promises to 
her followers, and rejects it, is but a blank virtue, 
not a pure. . . . Since, therefore, the knowledge 
and survey of vice is in this world so necessary 
to the constituting of human virtue, and the 
scanning of error to the confirmation of truth, 
how can We more safely and with less danger 
scout into the region of sin and falsity than by 
reading all manner of tractates and hearing all 
manner of reasons." 

What would such an adventurous spirit make 

" Of man's first Disobedience and the Fruit 
Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought Death into the World and all our -woe, 
With loss of Eden " ? 



314 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

What would Milton make of Adam in his 
sheltered Paradise ? And what would one whose 
whole life had been a passionate protest against 
the idea of submission to mere arbitrary power 
do with the element of arbitrariness which the 
theology of his day attributed to the Divine 
Ruler ? And what of Satan ? 

" One who brings 
A mind not to be changed by Place or Time. 
The mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. 
„ What matter where, if I be still the same ? " 

There is a note in that proud creed that could 
not be altogether uncongenial to one who in his 
blindness could — 

" still bear up and steer 
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask ? 

The Conscience, Friend, t' have lost them overplied 
In liberty's defense, my noble task ; 

Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought might lead me through this World's vain mask 

Content though blind, had I no better Guide." 

In its ostensible plot " Paradise Lost " is a 
tragedy; but did Milton really feel it to be 
so ? One fancies — though he may be mis- 
taken — that as Adam and Eve leave Paradise 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 315 

lie hears a sigh of relief from the poet, who was 
himself ever a lover of " the Mountain Nymph, 
sweet Liberty." At any rate, there is an under- 
tone of cheer. 

" Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon, 
The World was all before them where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide." 

Adam, when the old sheltered life is over, and 
the possibilities of the new life of struggle were 
revealed, — 

" Replete with joy and wonder thus replied. 
O goodness infinite, goodness immense ! 
That all this good of evil shall produce, 
And evil turn to good ; more wonderful 
Than that which by creation first brought forth 
Light out of darkness ! full of doubt I stand, 
Whether I should repent me now of sin 
By me done and occasioned or rejoice 
Much more that much more good thereof shall spring." 

That Adam should treat the loss of Eden in 
such a casual manner, and that he should express 
a doubt as to whether the estate into which his 
fall plunged the race was not better than one in 
which no moral struggle was necessary, was not 
characteristic of seventeenth-century theology, — 
but it was just like Milton. 



316 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

There is no knowledge so intimate as that pos- 
sessed by the reader of one book. It is an eso- 
teric joy. The wisdom of the ages concentrated 
into one personality and then graciously commu- 
nicated to the disciple has a flavor of which the 
multitudes of mere scholars know nothing. To 
them Wisdom is a public character. 

" Doth not Wisdom cry, 
And understanding put forth her voice f 
In the top of high places 
Where the paths meet she standeth." 

But the disciple is not content with such pub- 
licity. He shuns the crowded highways, and 
delights to hear wisdom speaking in confidential 
tones. 

In a little settlement in the far West I once met 
a somewhat depressed-looking man who remained 
silent till a chance remark brought a glow of 
enthusiasm to his eyes. 

" Oh," he cried, " you have been reading the 
Euins." 

My remark had been of a kind that needed 
no special reading to account for it. It merely 
expressed one of those obvious truths which are 
likely to occur to the majority of persons. But 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 317 

to him it seemed so reasonable that it could only 
come from the one source of wise thought with 
which he was acquainted. 

" The Ruins " proved to be a translation of 
Volney's " Ruins of Empire." I fear that I 
must have given the impression of greater famil- 
iarity with that work than was warranted by the 
facts, for my new-found friend received me as a 
member of the true brotherhood. His tongue 
was unloosed, and his intellectual passions, so 
long pent up, were freed. Had we not both 
read " The Ruins " ! It was to him more than a 
book ; it was a symbol of the unutterable things 
of the mind. It was a passionate protest against 
the narrow opinions of his neighbors. It stood 
for all that was lifted above the petty gossip of 
the little community, and for all that united him 
to an intellectual world of which he dreamed. 

As we talked I marveled at the amount of 
sound philosophy this lonely reader had ex- 
tracted from " The Ruins." Or had it been that 
he had brought the wisdom from his own medita- 
tion and deposited it at this shrine? One can 
never be sure whether a text has suggested the 
thought or the thought has illuminated the text. 



318 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

When it happens that the man of one book 
has chosen a work of intrinsic value, the result 
is a kind of knowledge which is of inestimable 
worth. It is deeply interfused with the whole 
imaginative life, it is involved in every personal 
experience. 

The supreme example of such intimate know- 
ledge was that which generations of English 
speaking men had of the Bible. Apart from any 
religious theory, this familiarity was a wonderful 
fact in the history of culture. It meant that the 
ordinary man was not simply in his youth but 
throughout his life brought into direct contact 
with great poetry, sublime philosophy, vivid his- 
tory. These were not reserved for state occa- 
sions ; they were the daily food of the mind. 
Into the plain fabric of western thought was 
woven a thread of Oriental sentiment. Children 
were as familiar with the names and incidents of 
remote ages and lands as with their own neigh- 
borhood. 

The important things about this culture of the 
common people was that it came through mere 
reading. The Bible was printed " without note 
or comment." The lack of critical apparatus and 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 319 

of preliminary training was the cause of many 
incidental mistakes ; but it prevented the great- 
est mistake of all, — that of obscuring the text 
by the commentary. 

In these days there has been a great advance 
in critical scholarship. Much more is known 
about the Bible, at least by those who have made 
it the object of special study ; but there is a sus- 
picion that fewer persons know the Bible than in 
the days when there were no " study classes," but 
only the habit of daily reading. 

The Protestant insistence upon publishing the 
Scriptures without note or comment was an effort 
to do away with the middle-men who stood be- 
tween the Book and its readers. Private judg- 
ment, it was declared, was a sufficient interpreter 
even of the profoundest utterances. This is a 
doctrine that needs to be revived and extended 
till it takes in all great literature. 

To come to a book as to a friend, to allow it to 
speak for itself, without the intrusion of a third 
person, this is the substance of the whole matter. 
There must be no hard and fast rules, no precon- 
ceived opinions. Because the author has a repu- 
tation as a humorist, let him not be received with 



320 INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 

an expectant smile. Nothing can be more dis- 
concerting to Ills sensitive spirit; and besides, 
how can you know that he has not a very serious 
message to communicate ? Because he is said to 
be capable of sublimity, do not await him with 
overstrained sensibilities. Perhaps you may find 
him much less sublime and much more entertain- 
ing than you had anticipated. If the sublime 
vision does come, you will appreciate it all the 
more if it comes upon you unawares. 

" As cloud on cloud, as snow on snow, as the 
bird on the air, and the planet on space in its 
flight, so do nations of men and their institutions 
rest on thoughts." 

If this be so, can there be any knowledge more 
important than the knowledge of what a man 
actually thinks. " A penny for your thoughts," 
we say lightly, knowing well that this hidden 
treasure cannot be bought. The world may be 
described in formal fashion as if it were an un- 
changing reality ; but how the world appears to 
each inhabitant of it he alone can declare. Or 
perhaps he cannot declare it, for most of us find 
it impossible to tell what we really think or feel. 
In attempting to do it we fall into conventional- 



INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE AND DELIGHT 321 

ity, and succeed only in telling what we think 
other people would like to have us think. Only 
now and then is one horn with the gift of true 
self-expression. In his speech we recognize a real 
person, and not the confused murmur of a multi- 
tude. Institutions and traditions do not account 
for him ; this thought is the more fundamental 
fact. Here is a unique bit of knowledge. There 
is no other way of getting at it than that of the 
Gentle Reader, — to shut out the rest of the world 
and listen to the man himself. 



Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton 6r* Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 



OCT 10 1903 









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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




012 244 720 



